“Cotton rows crisscross the worldAnd dead-tired nights of yearningThunderbolts on leather stropsAnd all my body burningSugar cane reach up to GodAnd every baby cryingShame a blanket of my nightAnd all my days are dying”

“I feel alone.I don't mean i feel lonely; I mean i feel alone, the same way i feel the blanket resting on my body, or the feathers of my pillow under my head, or the tight string of my sleep pants twisted up around my waist. I feel alone as if it were an actual thing, seeping throughout this whole level like mist blanketing a field, reaching into all the hidden corners of my room and finding nothing living but me. It's a cold sort of feeling, this.”

“I knew that I would know more dead people. The bodies pile up. Could there be a space in my memory for each of them, or would I forget a little of Alaska every day for the rest of my life?”

“The curtains were not yet drawn and with the moonlight spreading across the room, I could see clearly. I undressed and slipped a soft cotton gown over my naked body. I pulled the blanket off the foot of my bed, covered my shoulders and wa...lked out on the balcony. The cool night air blowing through my hair served as a reminder that only a hint of summer remained in this year of 1860.”

“I'm wearing dead cotton on my limbs and a blush of roses on my face.”

“America Singer, one day you will fall asleep in my arms every night. And you'll wake up to my kisses every morning.”