Monday

For the man was canny, he was intuitive, he anticipated everything. He continually looked over his shoulders, he looked into the background with mirrors, he locked his sleeping room at night, he could pick out a whisper in the wind, he could register the slightest added value a man put into his words, he could probably read the faltering and perfidy in Bob's face. He once numbered the spades on a playing card that skittered across the street a city block away; he licked his daughter's cut finger and there wasn't even a scar the next day; he wrestled with his son and the two Fords at once one afternoon and rarely even tilted - it was like grappling with a tree. When Jesse predicted rain, it rained; when he encouraged plants, they grew; when he scorned animals, they retreated; whomever he wanted to stir, he astonished.
--Ron Hansen, The Assassination Of Jesse James By The Coward Robert Ford

And the poem, I think, is only your voice speaking.
--Virginia Woolf, The Waves

I breathed the book before I saw it; tasted the book before I read it.
--Paul Harding, Tinkers

Memory believes before knowing remembers.
--William Faulkner, Light In August

It all means more than I can tell you. So you must not judge what I know by what I find words for.
--Marilynne Robinson, Gilead

She had the perpetual sense, as she watched the taxi cabs, of being out, out, far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very, dangerous to live even one day.
--Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway