Her sanity was a fragile thing, a butterfly cupped in her hands, that she carried with her everywhere, afraid of what would happen if she let it go-or got careless and crushed it.

I'll take the shooting. I'm used to that. I've been shot a few times in the past, and I guess I can stand it, again.

Was there any human urge more pitiful-or more intense- than wanting another chance at something?

But God fears women even more that He fears the devil- and is right to. She, with her power to bring life into the world, was truly made in the image of the Creator, not man.

She liked things that had been written by people who had lived short, ugly, and tragic lives. Or, who at least, were English.

It bewildered Ig, the idea that a person could not be interested in music. It was like not being interested in happiness.

The soul is an irrational, indivisible equation that perfectly expresses one thing: you. The soul would be no good to the devil if it could be destroyed. And it is not lost when placed in Satan's care, as is so often said. He always know exactly how to put his finger on it.