“Injustice had made her sulle, and misery had made her ugly.”

“The wine- it made her limbs loose and liquid, made her feel that a hummingbird had taken the place of her heart.”

“It was the absences that had made her think, not the presences.”

“All of us--all who knew her--felt so wholesome after we cleaned ourselves on her. We were so beautiful when we stood astride her ugliness. Her simplicity decorated us, her guilt sanctified us, her pain made us glow with health, her awkwardness made us think we had a sense of humor. Her inarticulateness made us believe we were eloquent. Her poverty kept us generous. Even her waking dreams we used--to silence our own nightmares.”

“Poor Meg seldom complained, but a sense of injustice made her feel bitter toward everyone sometimes, for she had not yet learned to know how rich she was in the blessings which alone can make life happy.”

“She was no stranger to waiting, after all. Her man had always made her wait.”