“He smiled, which was not at all what she'd expected. It wasn't just a polite smile, either. It was the kind that made her want to sit on the front-porch swing, if she'd had a swing, and hum romantic songs from the thirties, those terrific old songs that talked about red sails in the sunset and the glory of love.”

“She liked to sit on the front porch in the afternoons and read books she'd checked out from the library. Aside from coffee, reading was her only indulgence.”

“In the crook of the crescent moon sits the Holy Lady, with strong muscles and a merciful heart. She kicks her her splendid legs like the moon is her swing and the sky, her front porch. She waves down at Sidda like she has just spotted an old buddy.”

“I knew near everything about him, and he knew near everything about me, and all that made our quiet a kind of song. The kind that you hum without even knowing what it is or why you're humming it. The kind that you've always known.”

“Life was just a tire swing.'Jambalaya' was the only song I could sing.Blackberry pickin', eatin' fried chicken,And I never knew a thing about pain.Life was just a tire swing.”

“Wyatt had planned a romantic evening and he'd been teasing her with little notes for weeks that left hints about what they would be doing. I walked into Miranda's bedroom and she'd taken all those notes off her mirror and had them on her bed in a circle around her. The bear he'd given her last year was sitting in her lap and the necklaced she'd saved so long for was in her hand. She was rubbing the smooth diamond as she stared at the notes in front of her.”