“She sank again into the salty water…into the delicious warm brine-tasting depths of her grief.”

“She used to say she could taste sleep and that it was as delicious as a BLT on fresh French bread.”

“Because if she let go of her grief even for a minute it would only hit her harder when she bumped into it again.”

“If you put butter and salt on it, it tastes like salty butter.”

“Everything about her was warm and soft and scented; even the stains of her grief became her as raindrops do the beaten rose.”

“During a warm winter rain… the basins of her collarbones collected water.”

“The blessed damozel lean'd out
From the gold bar of Heaven;
Her eyes were deeper than the depth
Of waters still'd at even;
She had three lilies in her hand,
And the stars in her hair were seven.”

“Sometimes, when you’re sad you don’t know what to do, it helps to be angry. But then the tears come back again all the same, and you fall asleep with the salty taste of them on your lips.”

“To weep is to make less the depth of grief.”

“She looked into the distance, and the old terror flamed up for an instant, then sank again. Edna heard her father's voice and her sister Margaret's. She heard the barking of an old dog that was chained to the sycamore tree. The spurs of the cavalry officer clanged as he walked across the porch. There was the hum of bees, and the musky odor of pinks filled the air.”