- "Then they left the town behind, following the winding course of the Rhoyne through willow groves and poppy fields and past a tall wooden windmill whose blades creaked like old bones as they turned." (p. 339)
- "That was his mistake, the false humility of youth that is itself a sort of pride." (p. 451)
- "It was a feeble sort of evasion, a sad rag wrapped around his wounded word." (p.566)
- "How long ago had his hair turned from sunlight into snow?" (p. 802)
apr 2 2015 ∞
sep 1 2015 +
sep 1 2015 +