“The white realtor lady asks if I'm adopted—like that's some legitimate, socially appropriate question to ask—and is halfway through a gushy story about her friend's new baby from Korea when I say, “Haven't you ever heard of interracial marriage? It's all the rage in civilized countries,” and she shuts up and purses her lips.”

“Mom always says you can solve most problems at the library, and there's a lady there who's my friend. We could ask her about helping Bernice. She has to answer people's questions. It's her job.”

“Papa, do you like my new friend?" Frances Catherine asked when they were halfway across the field."I surely do.""Can I keep her?""For the love of...No, you can't keep her. She isn't a puppy. You can be her friend, though," he hastily added before his daughter could argue with him."Forever, papa?"She 'd asked her father that question, but Judith answered her. "Forever," she shyly whispered.Frances Catherine reached across her father's chest to take hold of Judith's hand. "Forever," she pledged.”

“What are you up to?" she asked."Why would you think I'm up to anything?"Her lips pursed before she said, "You wouldn't be you if you weren't up to something."He smiled at that. "I do believe that was a compliment.""It wasn't necessarily intended as such.""But nonetheless," he said mildly, "that's how I choose to take it.”

“She asked me why I never came, said she had heard all sorts of stories about me. This was only to gain time. Asked me, was I writing poems? About whom? I asked her. This confused her more and I felt sorry and mean. Turned off that valve at once and opened the spiritual-heroic refrigerating apparatus, invented and patented in all countries by Dante Alighieri...”

“Mother had told me her favorite story about a little Protestant lady who, on being told that the candle at the high altar in St. Peter's had not been out for a thousand years, pursed her lips and extinguished it, saying, "Well, it's out now.”