“Ryan held a strawberry milkshake in one hand, his father's ashes in the other--and hoped like hell he didn't get them mixed up.”

“Ryan held out his hands. "What the hell is this? Beat The Shit Out Of Ryan Week?" "I didn't think you'd mind, since you're always insisting upon getting yourself hospitalized,"Claire said.Ryan's face screwed into disgust. "That was uncalled for.""The truth hurts, baby."He smiled. "If you're going to talk to me like that, you can insult me all day long."Claire pulled her car keys from her pocket, and then pulled on Ryan's hand. "I meant that you're a baby. It wasn't a term of endearment.""Yeah, right.”

“...doing the smoker's comedy act: he hunted automatically for an ashtray, didn't find one, tipped his ashes into the palm of his hand,...”

“He didn't ask because he didn't wanted to know. If you know, moments die an instant death. She held his hand in hers; hiding them like a pearl; her coral eyes ensconcing his pain.”

“He was doing Tony’s dirty work, in a way—like Tony had done his in New York. One hand washing the other, neither of them getting clean.”

“One of the great Confederate combat leaders, General John B. Gordon, had sat at his horse and spoken farewell to his men. Some he had seen weeping as they folded burnt and shot-pierced battle flags and laid them on the stacked arms of surrender. As he told his troops his own grief he tried to give them hope to rebuild out of the poverty and ashes to which many would return. Gordon would never forget a Kentucky father who lost two sons, one dying for the North, the other for the South. Over the two graves of his soldier boys the father set up a joint monument inscribed "God knows which was right.”