“She wished there was some place where she could go to hum it out loud. Some kind of music was too private to sing in a house cram fall of people. It was funny, too, how lonesome a person could be in a crowded house.”

“She thought to herself, "This is now." She was glad that the cozy house, and Pa and Ma and the firelight and the music, were now. They could not be forgotten, she thought, because now is now. It can never be a long time ago.”

“But it was too interesting, too new, too flattering, too deeply comforting to resist, it was a liberation to be in love and say so, and she could only let herself go deeper.”

““I wish…” she said, and stopped. There was nothing that could be gained by wishing for it. A final deep shaky breath, and she was ready to go on.”

“Gloria Estefan is going to be here. She writes these books about her dog, Noelle... and she also dances and sings well, too.”

“Why did my father write? I know he saw
History clutched as a wraith out of blowing mist
Where tongues are loud, and a glut of little souls
Laps at the too much blood and the burning house.”

“I've seen gambling houses, too-in my travels, you understand-and I never saw anyone point a gun at a man and make him go in. Tve never heard of anyone being forced to go to a place to have some fun.”

“She only felt that the candle would burn better, the packing go easier, the world be happier, if she could give and receive some human love.”

“Yet she likes complications. She wishes she could turn and say: I like people who unbalance me.”

“We used to say in the White House that if a place is too dangerous, too small or too poor, send the First Lady.”