The voice that arises out of the silence is something no one can imagine until it is heard. It roars when it speaks, it lies to you and convinces you, it steals from you and leaves you without a single word of comfort.

There was the blue sky above her and all those many roses, the ones that gave off the scent of cloves in the rain and the ones that left a trace of lemon on your fingers, the ones that were the color of blood, and those that were as white as clouds. Each one was sweeter than the next and as red as gemstones.

I hate it when people tell me the end of the story because my mother always read the last page of a novel first to see whether she wanted to read it. It was a strange reading habit.

Being an outsider is the one thing we all have in common.

...and so many orchards circled the village that on some crisp October afternoons the whole wold smelled like pie.

I always quit at three when my kids come home from school so I feel pretty spoiled

I was beginning to understand.My grandmother's love was cold because she was afraid of things;that was why everything had to be perfect.