Maggie McCormick

“One of the skills of grief that Lusa had learned was to hold on tight to the last moments between sleep and waking. Sometimes, then, in the early morning, taking care not to open her eyes or rouse her mind through its warm drowse to the surface where pain broke clear and could, she found she could choose her dreams.

She could call a memory and patiently follow it backward into flesh, sound, and scents. It would be come her life once again and she was held and safe. Everything undecided. Everything still new.”
― Barbara Kingsolver, Prodigal Summer

“Don’t you miss it, any of it?'
…

'I couldn’t say.' She thought about it. 'Not cars or electric lights, not movies. Books I can get if I ask. But walking around in a library, putting my hands on books I never knew about, that I miss. Any thing else, I don’t know.”
― Barbara Kingsolver, Prodigal Summer

“Every year, the memories I have of my father become more faint, unclear, and distant. once they were vivid and true, then they became like photographs, and now they are more like photographs of photographs.”
― Nicole Krauss, The History of Love

“Feminine' was a test like some witch trial she was preordained to fail.”
― Barbara Kingsolver, Prodigal Summer