All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was.

It was my father who could do no wrong. So I didn't think of it as, oh, look, my father's a violent man.

When you stiffen, you know that whatever you stiffen about is very important. The stuff is important, the fear itself is information.

Never did he once consider directing his hatred toward the hunters. Such an emotion would have destroyed him ... His subconscious knew what his min did not guess-that hating them would have consumed him, burned him up like a piece of soft coal, leaving only flakes of ash and a question mark of smoke.

All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was.

In fact her maturity and blood kinship converted her passion to fever, so it was more affliction than affection. It literally knocked her down at night, and raised her up in the morning, for when she dragged herself off to bed, having spent another day without his presence, her heart beat like a gloved fist against her ribs. And in the morning, long before she was fully awake, she felt a longing so bitter and tight it yanked her out of a sleep swept clean of dreams.

I don't think I knew any of my father's friends - male friends - by their real names. I remember them only by their nicknames.