“Place a beehive on my graveAnd let the honey soak through.When I'm dead and gone,That's what I want from you.The streets of heaven are gold and sunny,But I'll stick with my plot and a pot of honey.Place a beehive on my graveAnd let the honey soak through.”

“Place a beehive on my grave and let the honey soak through, when I am dead and gone that's what I want from you. The streets of heaven are gold and sunny, but I'll stick with my plot and a pot of honey. Place a beehive on my grave and let the honey soak through.”

“I climbed into the honey wagon with my hair uncombed, with May handing me buttered toast and orange juice through the window and Rosaleen sticking in thermoses of water, both of them practically running alongside the truck while August rolled out of the driveway. I felt like the Red Cross springing to action to save the bee queendom.”

“I feel again the hunger to let go of my striving and find the ability to become content and still, intentionally "superfluous," as writer Helen M. Luke puts it. I want a refuge from my old conquering self.”

“Standing there, I loved myself and I hated myself. That's what the black Mary did to me, made me feel my glory and my shame at the same time.”

“It takes a bee 10,000,000 trips to collect enough nectar to make 1 pound of honey.”

“I'll write this all down for you," I said. "I'll put it in a story." I don't know if that's what he wanted to ask me, but it's something everybody wants--for someone to see the hurt done to them and set it down like it matters.”