“I was afraid, though, the blame would find a way to stick to them. That's how blame was.”

“I wonder if that's the perennial story of writers: you find the true light, you lose the true light, you find it again. And maybe again.”

“Look, I know you meant well creating the world and all, but how could you let it get away from you like this? How come you couldn't stick with your original idea of paradise? People's lives were a mess.”

“I now understand that writing fiction was a seed planted in my soul, though I would not be ready to grow that seed for a long time.”

“Place a beehive on my grave and let the honey soak through, when I am dead and gone that's what I want from you. The streets of heaven are gold and sunny, but I'll stick with my plot and a pot of honey. Place a beehive on my grave and let the honey soak through.”

“Place a beehive on my graveAnd let the honey soak through.When I'm dead and gone,That's what I want from you.The streets of heaven are gold and sunny,But I'll stick with my plot and a pot of honey.Place a beehive on my graveAnd let the honey soak through.”

“I missed Rosaleen's snoring the way you'd miss the sound of the ocean waves after you've gotten used to sleeping with them. I didn't realize how it had comforted me. Quiteness has a strange, spongy hum that can nearly break your eardrums.”