“I'd done cleaved myself to him right yonder under the trees, kneeling over that bloodroot flower. Looking at its red root sap, I was overcome with something that felt like the Holy Ghost. I seen all the generations that would come out of me and Macon. I seen our blood mixed up together, shining there in the gloomy light.”

“What did you think?' I blurted out, heat rushing to my cheeks. 'Of what?''My writing.''Oh,'Ford said. He looked at me for a long moment before rising stiffly out of his lawn chair. 'I think the whole world should read your poems.”

“Her fingers were trembling at her sides, eager to touch the horse's white-streaked nose. Wild Rose stared at Myra, hide twitching. When Myra finally reached out her hand, the horse got spooked and galloped away. Myra stared after her a long time. Like Daddy, she was smitten. But I knew she loved Wild Rose for a different reason than Daddy did. Daddy loved her because she was different than he was. Myra loved Wild Rose because they were the same.”

“It's not forgetting that heals. It's remembering.”

“Since his mother died I have seen him steam a cucumber thinking it was zucchini. That's the kind of thing that turns my heart right over.”

“...I have never seen him smile like that—it’s intoxicating, especially because I never thought he would smile like that at me.”

“The feeling of pleasure was like nothing I had ever felt before and I wanted his hands to feel me all over as he sat there groping me and I was left wondering was it him or the drug making me feel so good?”