“...singing ballads whose words had never known paper but lived only on the rasping edge of their own voices.”

“Beware of singing divine psalms for an ordinary recreation, as do men of impure spirits, who sing holy psalms intermingled with profane ballads: They are God’s word: take them not in thy mouth in vain.”

“The American identity has never been a singular one and the voices of poets invariably sing, in addition to their own, the voices of those around them.”

“Only the mockingbird sings at the edge of the woods.”

“It is never about how good your voice is; it is only about feeling the urge to sing, and then having the courage to do it with the voice you are given.”

“Tiff needed the words on the page to become the voice in her head, her own voice, or an approximation of it, and she needed the paper and the sound of the scratch of her chapped fingertips against it as she fiddled with each page.”