“The woman who looks back at me from my bathroom mirror is sliding toward her mid-fifties. She'd better be careful- she's getting old. I myself am about thirty. I've been thirty for about twenty-three years now.”

“I didn't get to grow up and pull away from her and bitch about her with my friends and confront her about the things I'd wished she'd done differently and then get older and understand that she had done the best she could and realize that what she had done was pretty damn good and take her fully back into my arms again. Her death had obliterated that. It had obliterated me. It had cut me short at the very heigh of my youthful arrogance. It had forced me to instantly grow up and forgive her every motherly fault at the same time that it kept me forever a child, my life both ended and begun in that premature place where we'd left off. She was my mother, but I was motherless. I was trapped by her, but utterly alone. She would always be the empty bowl that no one could full. I'd have to fill it myself again and again and again.”

“She takes deliberately slow steps toward me and I'm a second away from dropping at her feet. This girl is a goddess and I am her slave.”

“That meant I could come back whenever I could manage it. And she was telling me to go. She knew the decision was too big a load for me to carry by myself. She knew me through and through. She had eyes in the back of her heart.”

“Mason, I’m ruined. I can never give you what you deserve. I’m incapable of loving someone like—like you want. I will never be able to do it right. I will never deserve to be loved.”My breathing is erratic. I shove myself to my knees and grasp her arms, pulling her toward me once again. “Sometimes never is a distorted perception. I love you, Hope. And I’m not the only one. I know you care about me. I see it in your eyes. I feel it. Everybody needs love. Everybody. And some people need it more than others. You’re a liar if you say you don’t. I’ll do that for you. I’ll love you. All you have to do is let me.”              The wind whispers against my back as if giving me a nudge toward her and I take it as a sign. I propel myself into her, pushing my bare skin to hers. I need to feel her. I need her to feel me.              This is real.”

“Aren't you a Republican? Just about everyone is in the whole town of Learning.""No, I'm not a Republican. And I'm not no Democrat. I'm not nothing.""Why not?""Because I'm not allowed to vote.""Me either. You have to be twenty-one to vote. I'm only twelve.""Reckon I'm soon looking at sixty.""Then why can't you vote? Is it because you're a Shaker?""No, it's account of I can't read or write. When a man cannot do these things, people think his head is weak. Even when he's proved his back is strong."Who decides?""Men who look at me and take me not for what I be. Men who only see my mark, my X, when I can't sign my name. They can't see how I true a beam to build our barn, or see that the rows of corn in my field are straight as fences. They just seem me walk the street in Learning in clothes made me by my own woman. They do not care that my coat is strudy and keeps me warm. They'll not care that I owe no debt and I am beholding to no man.”

“I’m now solidly in my mid-thirties. I turned thirty, three days ago.”