That world he wanted them to know had vanished as smoke deserts the dying embers that made it. - Annie Proulx

The editorial page played streams of invective across the provincial political scene like a fire hose. Harangues, pitted with epithets. Gammy bird was a hard bite. Looked life right in its shifty, bloodshot eye. A tough little paper. Gave Quoyle an uneasy feeling, the feeling of standing on a playground watching others play games whose rules he didn't know.

Quoyle, you got any maritime connections?' 'My grandfather was a sealer.' 'Jesus. You always come out at me out of left field.

Dad, there's smoke coming out of the can and coming out of your mouth, too. How do you do that, daddy?