“Three years ago my kindness covered me like a pure white blanket. Soon after, my white heart started to have tiny flecks of the truth splattered against it.Tainting it.”

“My white duvet is like an avalanche of blanket.
”

“A stranger left a white jacket, and it’s tempting for me to grab it, put it on, and use it like a shield against the spaghetti I’ll soon be eating. When I splatter red sauce all over myself, I don’t feel like a slob—I feel like a warrior.”

“The three species of pine native to Wisconsin (white, red and jack) differ radically in their opinions about marriageable age. The precocious jackpine sometimes bloom and bears cones a year or two after leaving the nursery, and a few of my 13-year-old jacks already boast of grandchildren. My 13-year-old reds first bloomed this year, but my whites have not yet bloomed; they adhere closely to the Anglo-Saxon doctrine of free, white, and twenty-one.”

“I crave white on white and black, but my thoughts race in glorious technicolour, prodding me awake, whipping away the warm blanket of invisibility every time it sears to smother my mind in nothing.”

“They say, he whispers, his lips making the word-shapes on her shoulder, there is a river that heals all wounds. It is pure white, like snow or the blossoms of prarie-cotton. You are my white river. If I die, I will come back to wash my heart in you.”