"I'd like to be the wind, so I could touch you and kiss you and beat you, and make you love me the way I love you! I'd rather be a tree and grow up here and swing my branches in the wind and then burn, than be a little petty, piffling human being--I would! I'm not afraid of you.
You couldn't make me afraid of you.

You can storm and rage around all you like.

I only love you for it--you beautiful thing!" It made Jack feel as though he had blundered upon a person kneeling in prayer; she was, after all, the goddess she looked, he thought whimsically.

At least she had all the makings of a goddess of the mountain top.

He felt suddenly inferior and gross, and he turned to leave her alone with her beautiful, terrible world.