A mother is the first archive, the most primary of sources. —from Riffat’s Diary by Taymiya R. Zaman
It was either pride or fear that kept him from confiding in her, and a combination of denial and ignorance that prevented her from asking him if he was noticing, as she was, the changes in his behavior, his moods, his orientation with the world. —from The Longboat by Sam Keller
When a word can be used in different ways or when different words seem interchangeable but signal political differences, it’s a good moment to be conscious of our usage. —from Ulrich Baer // The Cagibi Express Interview
The bridge. It had become her obsession, filling the emptiness Michael had left behind. When she got to her mom’s, she would put David to bed. She’d kiss him, tell him to be a good boy. She’d take a walk, sit on that bridge, and dream about flying. Yes, she’d dream about flying all the way down. —from The Creek Watcher by Feivel Wolff
The day began and ended in the barn. “Make sure you water the hogs and hay the cattle. Last one out—shut out the lights.” —from Snapshots: Rose Hill Farm by Martha Moore Davis
There was a kind of poetry I was seeking in my prose, word to be laid against word in just a certain way, a kind of word color, a march of words and sentences, the color to be squeezed out of simple words, simple sentence construction. —Sherwood Anderson, Memoirs