“She was spirit and presence, as rare and brilliant as snowflakes in sunlight, and he could not bring himself to harm her.”

“He was so different from her, yet in his presence she felt the possibility of another kind of life, a life she had never imagined could be hers. A life without the rigid limitations others had always set for her.”

“She was so quiet. So reflective. And she could erase herself, her spirit, with a swiftness that truly startled, when she knew the people around her could not respect it.”

“She rarely saw priest—and knowing her heart sinned, was glad of that. Dreary was a church after the woodlands and hills and sounding sea. She still loved God—and was not the earth His work, and a church only man’s?—but she could not bring herself to call on Him very often.”

“She left pieces of her life behind her everywhere she went. It's easier to feel the sunlight without them, she said.”

“A little unsure of himself in her presence, he always addressed her in questions, a habit common to parents, sovereigns, generals, and teachers.”

“She turned to the sunlight
    And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbor:
    "Winter is dead.”

“I’m motivated every single day to go to the rink because of what she brings. I know that she brings her best every day. With brilliant people, with being so creative, it’s hard to imagine you’d just be so steady. That last thing, that’s the consistency.”

“I’m motivated every single day to go to the rink because of what she brings. I know that she brings her best every day. With brilliant people, with being so creative, it’s hard to imagine you’d just be so steady. That last thing, that’s the consistency.”

“A woman can forgive a man for the harm he does her,” he said, “but she can never forgive him for the sacrifices he makes on her account.”