When mom and dad went to war the only prisoners they took were the children
I think I learned about the relationship between books and life from Margaret Mitchell.
My soul grazes like a lamb on the beauty of an indrawn tide.
The fruit tasted foreign but indigenous, like sunlight a tree had changed through patience.
We've pretended too much in our family, Luke, and hidden far too much. I think we're all going to pay a high price for our inability to face the truth.
I could bear the memory, but I could not bear the music that made the memory such a killing thing.