“In a proud fatherly sadomasicisticly way, I am thrilled when I get hit. As every deep purple bruise on my body represented a perfect swing. If I were to lift my shirt at any time there would be 4-5 bruises on my body. ...As soon as I was able to, I would throw batting practice again from the short distance, and take another shot if necessary to keep the boys in the zone.”

“Then Drew shuffles into the dining hall. I drop my toast, and my mouth drifts open.Calling him “bruised” would be an understatement. His face is swollen and purple. He has a split lip and a cut running through his eyebrow. He keeps his eyes down on the way to his table, not even lifting them to look at me. I glance across the room at Four. He wears the satisfied smile I wish I had on.”

“You know, I honestly can’t remember a time when you weren’t covered in scrapes and bruises. I would blame it on you trying to keep up with the boys if they weren’t always struggling to keep up with you.”

“I took a step. And then another. And so it went as we followed Father, who had come to take us forever away from Salem. And with every step I thought of my mother's courage as she faced her judges. With every step I thought of her cleaving to the truth even as she fell the short distance of the rope. With every step I thought of her pride, her strength, her love.And with every step I thought, I am my mother's daughter, I am my mother's daughter...”

“Is there any other way to be? I mean, this is it. This is my body, my soul; I gotta live with it. I'd better get comfortable. I plan on taking it for a long ride.”

“Crying and scratching. They are both supposed to offer relief, but they don't. My muscles feel bruised and my bones hurt where they get near my skin. I am happiest when I'm typing. And then I push the typewriter off my lap and curl my body around it like a sea horse and fall asleep like Esther, konwing that when I wake up, things will be more or lest exactly the same.”