“Under a bruised sky, fingers of wind stroke the wheat from bleached gold to tan and back.”

“I’ve never seen an old person cry like this. The sadness from life is supposed to be folded inside an old person, not streaming out. - Iris from Crossing the Tracks”

“Everything will need selling, or moving, or rearranging. But there's no right place for any of it, including the most awkward piece of furniture: me. I'm too empty to sell. I'm too replaceable to stay in Wellsford, and I'm too big for Celeste's apartment.”

“Top-heavy sunflowers droop, their leaves baked golden by the August sun.”

“Dust the people you love.”

“blue-gold sky, fresh cloud, emerald-black mountain, trees on rocky ledges, on the summit, the tiny pin of a telephone tower-all brilliantly clear, in shadow and out. and on and through everything everywhere the sun shines without reservation (p. 97)”

“…praise any word that can hold you. Praise all but the vanishing point where we stand now, not quite parted. Already memories fall like blows. But soon they will be treasure, dropped like gold through a miser’s fingers as he makes his accounts…Praise each insomniac hour, kept wide awake by your glow. Sleep would only have robbed more coins from this vandal hoarded store.”