“They could lie drowsing now under the sound of kindly voices in the living room, a sound whose intricately rhythmic rise and fall would slowly turn into the shape of their dreams. And if they came awake later to turn over and reach with their toes for new cool places in the sheets, they knew the sound would still be there—one voice very deep and the other soft and pretty, talking and talking, as substantial and soothing as a blue range of mountains seen from far away.”

“He would sit singing, his cheeks turning red above his whiskers; but his voice always came out deep and steady, like the sound of long ago, if long ago could make a sound instead of being forever lost and silent.”

“A voice spoke. It sounded like a lion would speak, if it could talk. I WARNED YOU!In a way that would probably have been comic to watch, Lucinda and I turned, slowly, to see Spider the cat sitting between us and the door.‘The cat just spoke,’ said Lucinda blankly.‘I know,’ I said.‘Cats don’t talk.’‘I know that, too.’I’m not a cat. And I told you to stay away from here.”

“The arguments against insanity fall through with a soft shirring sound;these are the sounds of dead voices on dead recordsfloating down the broken shaft of memory.When I turn to you to ask if you remember,When I turn to you in our bed”

“turns me on so loud it's like no sound, everybody yelling at me hands over their ears from behind a glass wall, faces working around in talk circles but no sound from the mouths. my sound soaks up all other sound.”

“I'm going to go hunt some zombie," he said. It would have sounded pretty cool if his voice hadn't cracked in the middle of the sentence.”