Pieces Quotes (page 24)
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And I knew that the Spirit that had gone forth to shape the world and make it live was still alive in it. I just had no doubt. I could see that I lived in the created world, and it was still being created. I would be part of it forever. There was no escape. The Spirit that made it was in it, shaping it and reshaping it, sometimes lying at rest, sometimes standing up and shaking itself, like a muddy horse, and letting the pieces fly.
Wendell Berry
No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.
John Donne
Ranger is an unusual name," she managed. "Is it a nickname?"It's a street name," Ranger said. "I was a Ranger in the army."I heard about them Rangers on TV," Grandma said. "I heard they get dogs pregnant."My father's mouth dropped open and a piece of ham fell out. My mother froze, her fork poised in midair. That's sort of a joke," I told Grandma. "Rangers don't get dogs pregnant in real life."I looked at Ranger for corroboration and got another smile.
Janet Evanovich
Morelli was wearing a blazer over a black knit shirt, He took a seat, and his jacket swung wide, exposing the gun at his hip."Nice piece!" Grandma said. "What is it? Is that a forty-five?"It's a nine- millimeter."Don't suppose you'd let me see it," Grandma said. "I'd sure like to get the feel of a gun like that."No!" said everyone in unison."I shot a chicken once," Grandma explained to Morelli. "It was an accident."Where did you shoot it?" he finally asked."In the gumpy," Grandma said. "Shot...
Janet Evanovich
Not that I'm complaining. It was better than my old dream, where Harma Dogshead was feeding me to her pigs."Harma's dead." Jon said."But not the pigs. They look at me the way Slayer used to look at ham. Not to say that the wildlings mean us harm. Aye, we hacked their gods apart and made them burn the pieces, but we gave them onion soup. What's a god compared to a nice bowl of onion soup? I could do with mine myself.
George R. R. Martin
You'll come to my grave? To tell me your problems?"My problems?"Yes.'And you'll give me answers?"I'll give you what I can. Don't I always?"I picture his grave, on the hill, overlooking the pond, some little nine foot piece of earth where they will place him, cover him with dirt, put a stone on top. Maybe in a few weeks? Maybe in a few days? I see myself sitting there alone, arms across my knees, staring into space.It won't be the same, I say, not being able to hear you talk."Ah, talk . . ....
Mitch Albom
