“He had a real mother, and a stepfather named Bart who Martin called Fart but only with his brothers and James”

“He's the meanest one. We call him..Byrd the Turd”

“Don't go wishing for what you know nothing about.”

“I depended on you....You're older, you're supposed to be my...my archive. That's what sisters do, remember for each other.”

“Yes, I understand why things had to happen this way. I understand his reason for causing me pain. But mere understanding does not chase away the hurt. It does not call upon the sun when dark clouds have loomed over me. Let the rain come then if it must come! And let it wash away the dust that hurt my eyes!”

“I can't help thinking of Jackson Pollock, who poured, splattered and lashed the canvass with strings of paint. His process was about snaring not only a vision, but the moment the vision occurred to him. The paint becomes a net cast around something too fast to be caught. The bare spaces between the net's strands are as significant as the strands themselves because they hint at what can't be painted, can't be described.”

“Then all of a sudden he'd taken two giant steps towards me, and before I knew it, had taken my face into his hands and the rest of me into the darkness of his wings and we were kissing each other in my little bedroom, in my little house, in my little town, while the mountains soared into the sky.”