“Amelia and I were at the age where wonderful things sometimes still did happen, but far less often than they used to.”

“As far as I could see, she didn't take any better care of her apparel than I did mine, but I owned shirts that looked like they'd been run through a car engine half an hour after I removed the price tags, and she had socks from high school that were still as white as palace linen. Women and their clothes often astounded me this way, but I figured it was one of those mysteries I'd never solve - like what really happened to Amelia Earhart or the bell that used to occupy our office.”

“I reached out and touched his hands and they stilled at once. I had observed—although I did not often make use of the fact—that there were times when a touch could say things that words could not.”

“...how sorry she felt for white people, who couldn't do any of this (sit talking with friends and growing melons) and who were always dashing around and worrying themselves over things that were going to happen anyway. What use was it having all the money if you could never sit still or just watch your cattle, and yet they did not know it. Every so often you met a white person who understood, who realized how things really were; but these people were few and far between and the other white people often treated them with suspicion. ”

“It's still horrible. The whole thing.""Dreadful," Grace agreed.Amelia turned and looked at her directly. "Sodding bad."Grace gasped, "Amelia!"Amelia's face wrinkled in thought. "Did I use that correctly?""I wouldn't know.""Oh, come now, don't tell me you haven't thought something just as unladylike.""I wouldn't say it."The look Amelia gave her was clear as a dare. "But you thought it."Grace felt her lips twitch. "It's a dammed shame.""A bloody inconvenience, if you ask me.”

“If you still use the word "I" to identify and represent yourself, that explains why you still use less than 20% of brain capacity.”