“when I was four years oldthey tried to test my I.Q.they showed me a pictureof 3 oranges and a pearthey said,which one is different?it does not belongthey taught me different is wrongbut when I was 13 years oldI woke up one morningthighs covered in bloodlike a warlike a warningthat I live in a breakable takeable bodyan ever-increasingly valuable bodythat a woman had come in the night to replace medeface mesee,my body is borrowedyeah, I got it on loanfor the time in between my mom and some maggotsI don't need anyone to hold meI can hold my ownI got highways for stretchmarkssee where I've grownI sing sometimeslike my life is at stake'cause you're only as loudas the noises you makeI'm learning to laugh as hardas I can listen'cause silenceis violencein women and poor peopleif more people were screaming then I could relaxbut a good brain ain't diddleyif you don't have the factswe live in a breakable takeable worldan ever available possible worldand we can make musiclike we can make dogenius is in a back beatbackseat to nothing if you're dancingespecially something stupidlike I.Q.for every lie I unlearnI learn something newI sing sometimes for the war that I fight'cause every tool is a weapon -if you hold it right.”

“I don't need anyone to hold me, I can hold my own.”

“When I was a boy and I sang, my voice felt to me like a leak sprung from a small and secret star hidden somewhere in my chest and whatever there was about me that was fragile disappeared when my mouth opened and I let the voice out. We learned, we were prisons for our voices. You could want to try and make sure the door was always opened... We weren't something struck to make a tone. We were strike and instrument both. If you can hold the air and shake it to make something, you learn, maybe you can make anything. Maybe you can walk out of here on this thin, thin air.”

“Win interrupted me. "Stop," he said. "I love you, too." He paused. "You underestimate me, Annie. I'm not blind to your faults. You keep too many secrets, for one. You lie sometimes. You have trouble saying the things in your heart. You have an awful temper. You hold a grudge. And I'm not saying this one is your fault, but people who know you have a disturbing tendency to end up with bullets in them. You don't have faith in anyone, including me. You think I'm an idiot sometimes. Don't deny it--I can tell. And maybe I was an idiot a year ago, but a lot has happened since then. I'm different, Anya. You used to say I didn't know what love was. But I think I learned what it is. I learned it when I thought I had lost you over the summer. And I learned it when my leg ached something awful. And I learned it when you were gone and I didn't know if I'd ever see you again. And I learned it every night when I'd pray that you were safe even if I never got to see you again. I don't want to marry you. I'm just happy to be near you for a while, and for as long as you'll let me be. Because there's never been anyone else for me but you. There will never be anyone else for me but you. I know this. I do. Annie, my Annie, don't cry..." (Was I crying? Yes, I suppose I was. But I was still so awfully tired. You can't possibly hold this against me.)"I know that loving you is going to be hard, Annie. But I love you, come what may.”

“My grandfather had died, and my mother was trying to explain it to me. . . .Grandpa isn't coming back? No, she said. Not ever again. . . . And I remember saying, hold everything right fucking there. You went to all the trouble of conceiving me, and giving birth to me, and raising me and clothing me and all . . . and you make me cry and things hurt so much and disappointments crush my heart every day and I can't do half the things I want to and sometimes I just want to scream -- and what I've got to look forward to is my body breaking and something flipping off the switch in my head -- I go through all this, and then there's death? What is the motherfucking deal here? I wasn't having this. This was not fair.”

“I have never talked to anyone about that night. Ever...' she said. 'And now when I listen to my own words, I realise that they tell a different story from the one I have carried all these years.' The old woman closed her eyes. 'I think that if we can find the words, and if we can find someone to tell them to, then perhaps we can see things differently. But I had no words, and I had nobody.”