Sheba Solverson

“Jefferson needs something in that cell,” I said.
“Yes, he do,” the minister said. “You hit the nail on the head, mister. Yes, he do. But not that box.”
“And what do you suggest, Reverend Ambrose?” I asked.
“God,” the minister said. “He ain’t got but five more Fridays and a half. He needs God in that cell, and not that sin box.”
“What sin box?” I said.
“What you call that kind of music he listen to?” the minister asked. “Us standing in there trying to talk to him, and him listening to that thing till she got to reach over and turn it off—what you call it?”
“I call it company, Reverend Ambrose,” I said.
“And I call it sin company,” he said.
“And I don’t care what you call it!” I said to him.”
― Ernest J. Gaines, A Lesson Before Dying

“Holding this book in your hand, sinking back in your soft armchair, you will say to yourself: perhaps it will amuse me. And after you have read this story of great misfortunes, you will no doubt dine well, blaming the author for your own insensitivity, accusing him of wild exaggeration and flights of fancy. But rest assured: this tragedy is not a fiction. All is true.”
― Rohinton Mistry, A Fine Balance

“This isn’t a one-and-done thing for me. So, if you think you’re going to use me to scratch an itch, then you’d better think again.”
― Lotchie Burton, Gabriel's Fire

“I never really look past my eyes. That way I always feel pretty. Windows of the soul, you know.”
― E.L. Konigsburg, From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs Basil E. Frankweiler