“Ever hold your hand over a torch (sorry, a flashlight for you Americans).”

“Take up our quarrel with the foe:To you from failing hands we throwThe torch; be yours to hold it high.If ye break faith with us who dieWe shall not sleep, though poppies growIn Flanders fields.”

“How did people manage before there were flashlights?" Chen asked."With torches, wood wrapped with butter-soaked felt. They were as bright as these, and the wolves were scared to death of them. If one came at you, you could burn it's fur.”

“He leans over and takes her hand. With the other he touches her face. ‘You your best thing, Sethe. You are.’ His holding fingers are holding hers.‘Me? Me?”

“You are going to break your promise. I understand. And I hold my hands over the ears of my heart, so that I will not hate you.”

“Please don't be sorry, Grace. I am your friend and I'm here if you need to talk about anything or need a shoulder to cry on.""Thanks.""Especially if that's the only way I'll ever get to hold you.”