“Back at home they drew the curtains and read, with disapproval, with relish, with avidity and glee - even the ones who'd never thought of opening a novel before. There's nothing like a shovelful of dirt to encourage literacy.”

“There's nothing like a shovel full of dirt to encourage literacy.”

“The real world isn't like one of those lending library novels that you ladies read--and write--so avidly.”

“With every shovelful, it's like we're traveling back in time. Where no one has gone for centuries...or maybe never gone before.”

“One did not drink sherry before the evening, just as one did not read a novel in the morning.”

“Home. One place is just like another, really. Maybe not. But truth is it's all just rock and dirt and people are roughly the same. I was born up there but I'm no stranger here. Have always felt at home everywhere, even in Virginia, where they hate me. Everywhere you go there's nothing but the same rock and dirt and houses and people and deer and birds. They give it all names, but I'm at home everywhere. Odd thing: unpatriotic. I was at home in England. I would be at home in the desert. In Afghanistan or far Typee. All mine, it all belongs to me. My world.”