“Do you know, sire, I think that if we live to tell our grandchildren about this war, they will accuse us of making it up.'
“You fed it.' The badger sighed. 'Sometimes I think you'll feed anything.”
“What has that to do with the price of peas in Persopolis?”
“This may be my only chance to see humans before these two are made into fertilizer for Moonwind's rosebushes.”
“I bet his mother was a wyvern.
“I love you,” he whispered. “If you get yourself killed, I will never forgive you.”
“I wish we had a sign that this flaming dragon is part of an attack or something. Those dung heaps might think it’s just one of their own monsters enjoying the sunrise.”
“The questions are the danger.
Leave them alone and they sleep.
Ask them, awake them, and more than you
know will begin to rise.”
“If only I had a decent sense of humor Ah, well. Where subtlety fails us we must simply make do with cream pies.”
“Beloved, Dearest One:
How I long to shout to the world our happiness. I feel that you and I are the only two people alive in the world - the only people that know the secret meaning of existence.
I have no diamond rings, no gifts of love that other lovers have for their beloved. My poetry is all I have to offer you. And so I dedicate my collected verses, 'Poems of Poverty,' to you, beloved.
“The process of continually rereading and drawing out new meanings from words would not have been possible unless the words themselves were already open to it from within.”
“Here’s the scene: The three of us are by the Olympic-sized pool. The Latina with the thick waist is hovering in the shade of the veranda up by the house, her eyes on Frank in case he might want something, but so far he doesn’t and he hasn’t offered anything to me. If he did, I would ask for sunblock because standing here next to his pool is like standing on the sun side of Mercury. Gotta be ninety-six and climbing. Behind us is a pool house larger than my home, and through the sliding glass doors I can see a pool table, wet bar, and paintings of vaqueros in the Mexican highlands. It is air-conditioned in there, but apparently Frank would rather sit out here in the nuclear heat. Statues of lions dot the landscape, as motionless as Joe Pike, who has not moved once in the three minutes that I have been there. Pike is wearing a gray sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, faded Levi’s, and flat black pilot’s glasses, which is the way he dresses every day of his life. His dark brown hair is cut short, and bright red arrows were tattooed on the outside of his deltoids long before tattoos were au courant. Watching Joe stand there, he reminds me of the world’s largest two-legged pit bull.”
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