Quent Cordair

“The manhood had always been there. Even as a toddler, her son had always been serious. He had skipped crawling altogether, determined from the start to stand and to walk. He had always carried himself with that Hale self-possession and purposefulness. Her own gentleness and sensitivity were certainly there too, if less readily evident, and he had her family’s taller stature, her father’s eyes. Such beauty – a masculine beauty. In ways, he seemed so unmodern: he had never been shallow, uncertain, self-questioning or self-effacing. He was a throwback, a man’s man, without any of the false machismo. She was terribly interested in him – fascinated, really. As his mother, she was wholly vested in his well-being and happiness, of course, but she wanted more for him, and always more – she was insatiably eager to know how his story would unfold.”
― Quent Cordair, A New Eden

“the accepted standard: as an independent, objective journalist, she was never to take a side. Her own personal prejudices and desires and fears didn’t matter – they couldn’t matter. There were always two sides to every story. Everyone has their own truth. She could hear her journalism professor saying it over and over again, could see him scrawling the words with the squeaky marker on the whiteboard. There was no right or wrong. Like Justice holding the scales, she too had to remain blindfolded to judgment, while keeping her eyes wide open, seeing and uncovering as much of the truth as she could possibly find.”
― Quent Cordair, A New Eden