"A little more dirt was needed around the roots of the violets, which my caretaker procured from the vegetable garden and added to the flower pot. The snail was not pleased. For the next few days it carefully crept up the side of the pot and directly onto a violet leaf, never touching the garden soil, settling in for the day's snooze perched high in the crown of the plant. Rather abashed, I asked for more help, and the sandy garden soil was exchanged for hummus from the snail's own woods. Soon, the snail was sleeping beneath the violet leaves again in a soft new hollow."
~ Elisabeth Tova Bailey, page 18
"The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating"
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/8303977-the-sound-of-a-wild-snail-eating
"My grandparents returned to New England and my grandfather settled into life as a country doctor. The living room served as his office ,and it was there that he saw patients. When I visited as a child, I was petrified he might hear me cough. A ticklish throat or the slightest pallor, and he'd rush to a large jar of revoltingly long tongue depressors, thrusting one down my gagging throat. Yet when he answered a patient's call, even in the middle of the night, his very first words were always 'I am so sorry you are not feeling well.' How rare it is to hear a doctor express such empathy."
~ Elisabeth Tova Bailey, page 19
"The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating"
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/8303977-the-sound-of-a-wild-snail-eating
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