Clocks indeed must have their sacrifice: what is death but an offering to time and eternity?

Good luck and believe me, dearest Doc - it's better to look at the sky than live there. Such an empty place; so vague. Just a country where the thunder goes and things disappear.

Lively, too. Talky as a jaybird. With something smart to say on every subject: better than the radio.

June, July, all through the warm months she hibernated like a winter animal who did not know spring had come and gone.

She had only one flaw. She was perfect, otherwise whe was perfect.

Have you never heard what the wise men say: all of the future exists in the past.

But there were moments when she played songs that made you wonder where she learned them, where indeed she came from. Harsh-tender wandering tunes with words that smacked of pinewoods or prairie. One went: Don’t wanna sleep, Don’t wanna die, Just wanna go a-travelin’ through the pastures of the sky; and this one seemed to gratify her the most, for often she continued it long after her hair hard dried, after the sun had gone and there were lighted windows in the dusk.