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"Og når alt er hvitt, er alt riktig." Saul lurte på om hun forvekslet en indisk mystiker med et Ku Klux Klan-medlem.

Crie visste av erfaring at det du ikke så, var det mest skremmende. Og det Crie ikke så, knuste hjertet hennes.

CC hadde vært sammen med feite menn. Hun hadde vært sammen med muskuløse, slanke menn. Og etter hennes mening var begge ytterpunktene helt i orden. Det var overgangen fra det ene til det andre som var motbydelig.

"Har du laget disse?" Han var dypt rystet. Et kort øyeblikk lurte han på om han hadde feilbedømt henne. Dette er helt en begavet kunstners verk. "Selvsagt ikke. En eller annen patetisk personfra landsbygda ga meg dem(...)".

"For Guds skyld, drit eller kom deg av potta", hadde vært rådet hennes til Clara.

Det hadde falt tretti centimeter snø de siste ukene, og de gamle husene i landsbyallmenningen hadde fått hver sin drivende hvite lue.

I Quèbec-vinteren lignet alle på hverandre. Store, vraltende, vaggende vesener, inntullet i så mye gåsedun og Thinsulate at selv slanke så lubne ut, og de lubne ble trill runde.

Men innerst inne hadde han ment at verden var et skjønt sted. Og fotografiene hans gjenspeilet det. De fanget lyset, sråleglansen og håpet. Samt skyggene som utfordret lyset.

Fordi boken handlet mye om lys, syntes Saul det var interessant og ironisk at den faktisk var blitt sluppet på markedet på vintersolverv. Årets mørkeste dag.

"Link, you´re a genius. You´re a freaking genius."
"I know, man, but what does that have to do with anything?

"Ethan, over here!" Larkin was standing in the trees just past the reflective yellow rope that separated the Safe Zone from the You-Could-Get-Get-Your-Butt-Shot-Off-If-You-Cross-This-Line-Zone.

I wanted to remember this feeling, this moment, like a snapshot I could go back to whenever I wanted. I wanted to stay like this forever.
Which, it turns out, was exactly five more minutes.

Don´t be scared. It´s just the binding, to keep me safe until Moonrise. The Claiming can´t happen until the moon is high.
I´m not scared, L.
I know. I was talking to myself.

"Holy crap!"
He tried to get out before I noticed him, but he wasn´t fast enough. He knew I´d seen him. So he did the only thing he could do. He turned to face me.
"Although I don´t consider it particularly holy, who am I to correct you after such an ungraceful exit?" Macon smiled his Cary Grant smile and approached the end of my bed.

There were Casts for every conceivable purpose: Blinding the Unfaithful, Bringing Forth Water from the Sea, Binding the Runes. But nothing that said Cast to Uncurse Your Family from a Dark Binding, or Cast to Undo the Act of Trying to Bring Great-Geat-Great-Great-Grandmother Genevieve´s War Hero Back to Life, or Cast to Avoid Going Dark at Your Claiming. Or the one I was really looking for - Cast to Save Your Girlfriend (Now That You Finally Have One) Before It´s Too Late.

"(...) Don´t you have things you need to be doing? Holiday shopping at least?"
"I don´t shop."
"Spoken wisely."

Kapittel: It Rhymes with Witch.

Marian´s truck was parked at the curb, not ten feet from the Gatlin Historical Society, or, as my mom and Marian liked to say, the Gatlin Hysterical Society.