“Love is like water from the ocean." Damiana said. "You cannot empty it dry. Take bucket after bucket of water out of the Cormeon Sea, and there is still more water left than you could ever use up. That's what love's like.”

“Looks like you could use a hand," he observed. "Or maybe a bucket.""A bucket?""Of water. I hear that's what they use on fire." The guy smirked. "Unless you've got a better idea.”

“My love is not water in a bucket, you know. It's not as if someone else can drink it all up and leave none left for you.”

“When you are relaxed about where you are at in life, things tend to flow more fluidly. It is as if you poke three holes in a bucket of water. The same amount of water is going to flow out the holes whether you let it flow or you shake the bucket. The difference is the amount of turmoil on the inside of the bucket!”

“What a pure blessing it was to have a bath in a tub alone in a room where all you had to do was pump the water, not tote buckets. Then all you had to do was pull out the cork, not tote more buckets to the back porch--that kind of thing is easy to take lightly until you don't have it.”

“Was sorrow, in the end, a private thing? A closed container? Something that, like a bucket of water, could be borne only on a single pair of shoulders?”