Isolation, you know, carries the seeds of its own destruction because as times change, other things seep in.

And I am all the things I have ever loved: scuppernong wine, cool baptisms in silent water, dream books and number playing.

Each member of the family in his own cell of consciousness, each making his own patchwork quilt of reality - collecting fragments of experience here, pieces of information there. From the tiny impressions gleaned from one another, they created a sense of belonging and tried to make do with the way they found each other.

A man ain't nothing but a man. But a son? Well, now, that's somebody.

I don't think one parent can raise a child. I don't think two parents can raise a child. You really need the whole village.

Let your face speak what's in your heart.

Which was what love was: unmotivated respect.