The Sound in the Shell, page 6 of 12

Four dry leaves lie in a row down the salvaged table, each one more worn than the last, and Pip looks along them from the near end, orderly and quiet.

He laid the leaves out in the order of their seasons.

Given things do not come back; that is how you tell them.

The sea does not count tries.

Deep is not far.

Nothing is lost that is paid for.