“How did you find me? The heartstone? he says.
I look into his eyes. His silver moonlight eyes. The still calmwater heart of him.
I don’t need no stone to find you. I’d find you anywhere, I says.”
“Some things are jest too big to fergive.”
“Sometimes the strong give birth to the weak. An sometimes the weak grow to be strong”
“I push him off, sit up an start puttin my clothes to rights. He's made a heroic effort to undress me.
You work fast, I says.
Yer a moving target, I hafts. Here, he says, lemme help.
I button, he unbuttons. I tuck, he untucks.
I slap his hand. I'll do it myself, I says.”
“You have a rare fire within you. The power to change things. The courage to act in the service of something greater than yourself.”
“Who am I?
What do I believe?
Never lose sight of what I believe in. Never, no matter what happens.
What one person does affects all of us.
We're all bound together. We're all threads in a single garment of destiny.
I make my destiny myself.
By the choices I make.”
“We have a destiny, he says. Together, Saba. We're born to command, not obey.”
“Jack took a shot through the seat of his pants. He tells me next time I hold a target shoot he ain't available....
Listen, Saba. We came, we had a look, there ain't nuthin here. But, hey. It ain't bin a complete waste of time. I got my butt shot. You must be pleased about that.
I'm sure you deserve it fer somethin, I says.
Oh, I most certainly do, he says.”
“Molly an Slim an Mercy perch, uncomfortable, on barrels and whatnot. They're tryin to eat, but without much success.
Emmi's in the grip of giddy excitement. She jigs an hops all around 'em, with her tongue goin clickety clack.
They smile an nod. The fools. They don't know not to give her encouragement. They'll be trapped now till she tires or death takes 'em.”
“His Chosen Ones. What a lie. They're slaves too. You jest cain't see their chains.”
“I love you, Mia. Every part of you. The best and worst. The broken and perfect. The bad, the good. You’re it for me, babe. I see only you.”
“A aparência de um espírito depende inteiramente do modo como ele decide projetar a si mesmo, ou de como vê a si próprio em sua mente. É por isso que contatos com espíritos presos à terra nem sempre são eventos tranquilos, passivos. A tragédia vem em muitas formas, em geral acompanhada de violência, e os últimos pensamentos de um indivíduo tendem a dominar a mente do seu espírito após a morte física. Assim, via de regra, o fantasma se manifestará em um espetáculo grotesco, que representa o modo como ele morreu”
“Thigh on thigh, chest on chest, we're so close, there's not even night between us.”
“So how's the putrid pile of caca doing?”
“An old joke has an Oxford professor meeting an American former graduate student and asking him what he's working on these days. 'My thesis is on the survival of the class system in the United States.' 'Oh really, that's interesting: one didn't think there was a class system in the United States.' 'Nobody does. That's how it survives.”
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