“I couldn’t think of anyone I’d ever felt sorry for. There were plenty of kids I was envious of. There were others I achingly admired, but that might simply be another form of jealousy. Then there were those I feared, dreaded. And the worst of them, the man who shamed me. I could see my father’s angry features looming over my mother. I could clearly picture her beside him in his truck, cowering against the door while he belittled and assaulted her. I guess I did know someone I felt sorry for.”

“I knew they were cruel. Maybe I felt … sorry for him.” I snort. “Sorry for me? I could’ve handled those guys.” “They smashed the back of your head in with a board from my house.”

“But the men tonight were paid to kill a newlywed man and his wife,” his arms gave me a squeeze, “I lose no sleep for them and you shouldn’t either.” “But you were awake,” I pointed out. “Yes, I was, because my wee wife trembles against me in her sleep,” he informed me. God, that was sweet. “Sorry, Frey,” I whispered. “Do not be sorry, be drowsy,” he ordered.”

“I hold the door to the post office open for a weathered man in a wheelchair. He is gracious, thanking me. One leg is missing, and just as I notice this, I see the sticker on the back of his chair: VIETNAM VETS. My thoughts jumble as an ache brews in my heart. I think of war and how it destroys, divides, and damages. I see the faces of those in the refugee camp and those who found their names on The List and are now in America. I want to tell this wounded soldier that I am sorry for his loss and for the abandonment he may have felt upon his return. I want to say other things, but right now I'm just honored to hold the door for him.”

“I held her in my arms last night," he said quietly. "And when I felt her every response, I thought, 'There's nothing else I could ever want.' Whether there's a Heaven or not, it doesn't matter. This…Those moments when she gave me everything were more than I ever hoped Heaven could be.”

“I know he likes me. Of course I flatter him dreadfully. I find a strange pleasure in saying things to him that I know I shall be sorry for having said...Then I feel, Harry, that I have given away my whole soul to someone who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a summer's day.”