“She can't help it,' he said. 'She's got the soul of a poet and the emotional makeup of a junkyard dog.”

“I know she ain't you, but she's here, and she's got that dark rhythm in her soul.”

“She always dressed well, but he recognized the signs of insecurity; certitude was inversely proportional to the amount of makeup.”

“It's all about soul.
It's all about faith and a deeper devotion.
It's all about soul.
'Cause under the love is a stronger emotion.
She's got to be strong
'Cause so many things getting out of control
Should drive her away.
So why does she stay?
It's all about soul.”

“"How divine is utterance!" she said. "As we to the brutes, poets are to us."”

“She was not a poet. She was a poem.”

“Is willing to accept that she creates her own reality except for some of the parts where she can't help but wonder what the hell she was thinking”

“She's not wearing makeup so her face just looks like skin.”

“She glanced at him. “What gods do you respect?”
“None.”
“And why not?”
“I help myself,” he said.”

“I do feel that evolution is being controlled by some sort of divine engineer. I can't help thinking that. And this engineer knows exactly what he or she is doing and why, and where evolution is headed. That’s why we’ve got giraffes and hippopotami and the clap.”