“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been…” “Eight days,” Søren supplied. “Eight days since my last confession. Let’s see… where to start?” “Pace yourself, Eleanor. If you forget something, I will remind you.”

“An octopus has eight legs. You know what else has eight legs? My bed last night. Oh, I didn’t have a foursome, but I did sleep with six prosthetic legs (I have a bad back).”

“January 8 has been a lucky day for me. I have started all my books on that day, and all of them have been well received by the readers. I write eight to ten hours a day until I have a first draft, then I can relax a little. I am very disciplined. I write in silence and solitude. I light a candle to call inspiration and the muses, and I surround myself with pictures of the people I love, dead and alive.”

“One of the saddest things is that the only thing a man can do for eight hours a day, day after day, is work. You can't eat eight hours a day nor drink for eight hours a day nor make love for eight hours—all you can do for eight hours is work. Which is the reason why man makes himself and everybody else so miserable and unhappy.”

“My confession begins," Father S said, "as the confessions of many men begin - with three words""Father forgive me?" Michael hazarded a guess. Father S signed."I met Eleanor.”

“As I stood outside in Cow Lane, it occurred to me that Heaven must be a place where the library is open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.No ... eight days a week.”