“The expression on James' face was priceless. "The pizza man wants to meet me?”

“That boy thinks the sun rises out of your backside. The good Lord knows why if all it produces is gas.”

“Luke's momma had an impressive temper. All the Murrays had tempers, but Momma, she was another level entirely. She could rant at her husband and cook the evening meal, and whap her son upside the head all at the same time.”

“There is more than one Sue Brown.”

“as she spoke, she watched the expressions on the faces go from incredulous shock, to hopeful belief, and finally to awestruck acceptance”

“He didn't answer. Instead he cupped her face in his hands and drew her towards him. Then he kissed her lightly on the lips. Oh god, she wanted his head between her legs and she wanted it now.”

“And suddenly...it made a kind of emotional sense that caused me to feel, instantly, how little sense my earlier...assumptions had made...And with that thought it was as though my father stepped forward to meet me as he had been in 1940: twenty-five years old, newly married, teaching literature and history and religion as his first real job, as an assistant professor at Macalester College in St. Paul, Minnesota. That stage of his life – and he in it – had always been indistinct to me, as the lives of parents before their children exist always are to those children; but now, holding this letter in my hands, I remembered anew and vividly the numerous photographs in our family albums of him then – a slender young man, intense-looking and handsome, with a shock of dark hair swept back from his high forehead. A radical young man, it would seem. More radical in many ways than my own son was now. A young man, ready, perhaps even eager to embrace the fate his powerful beliefs were calling him to. Sitting there, I felt a rush of love and pity for him in his youth, in his passionate convictions...”