You'll have pie in the sky when you die.

We'll have freedom, love and health/When the grand red flag is flying, In the Workers' Commonwealth.

Who knows what may lie around the next corner? There may be a window somewhere ahead. It may look out on a field of sunflowers.

I will be waiting by candlelight in our tree house of the mind.

She'd thought love had something to do with happiness, but it turned out they were not even vaguely related. Love was closer to a need, no different from the need to eat, to breathe.

She breathed deeply of the scent of decaying fiction, disintegrating history, and forgotten verse, and she observed for the first time that a room full of books smelled like dessert: a sweet snack made of figs, vanilla, glue, and cleverness.

Longhaired preachers come out every night, Tryin' to tell us what's wrong and what's right. But when asked about something to eat, They will tell you in voices so sweet. You will eat (You will eat!) By and by, (By and by!) In that glorious land in the sky. (Way up high!) Work and pray, live on hay, You'll get pie in the sky when you die. (That's a lie!)