Clare Vanderpool quotes:

Louis Armstrong on Mondays, Frank Sinatra on Wednesdays, Glenn Miller on Fridays, and Mozart on Sundays. Unless it was raining. If it's raining, it's always Billie Holiday."

And in the background of Early's story was her voice. Her soul. Her sadness and longing. Because when it's raining, it's always Billie Holiday. p. 81

And if Mozart is for Sundays, who do you listen to the rest of the week?""Louis Armstrong on Mondays, Frank Sinatra on Wednesdays. And Glenn Miller on Fridays, unless it's raining. If it's raining, it's always Billie Holiday.""What about Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday?" I asked."Those days are quiet. Unless it's raining."

What would you rather be, Jackie? Angry mad or crazy mad? I think I'd rather be crazy mad, because you can be crazy and still happy.

They call themselves the Ku Klux Klan and they hate pretty much everyone who isn't like them. If you have the wrong color, religion, or birthplace, they don't like you. Around here it's mostly foreigners they hate.

I'd heard of really bad things Klan folks did to Negroes. Mean, hateful, deadly things. I didn't know they were hateful toward white folks too.

Finding your way doesn't mean you always know where you're going. It's knowing how to find your way back home that's important.

Fly fishing is not about catching the fish. It is about enjoying the water, the breeze, the fish swimming all around. If you catch one, good. If you don't...that is even better. That mean you come out and get to try all over again.

This was a land of lost souls. Human beings who had weathered great storms in life, had suffered unspeakable loss, had been put to painful tests of existence, and still remained standing-but just barely.

There are no coincidences. Just miracles by the boatload.

Memories were like sunshine. They warmed you up and left a pleasant glow, but you couldn't hold them.

Sometimes it's best not to see your whole path laid out before you. Let life surprise you...There are more stars out there than just the ones with names. And they're all beautiful.

He could hear trhe voices, the whispers, the sighs, of these souls who were unable to let go of their burdens. ... Pi understood this need to hold on. To let let go of his pain. It had become such a part of him. Who would he be without it? The thought frightened him. So he wandered the halls of the catacombs like the other souls who were half-dead and half-alive.

When there is suffering, we look for a reason. That reason is easiest found within oneself.

...the person you encounter is often more than the person you see.

If there is such a thing as a universal--and I wasn't ready to throw all of mine out the window--it's that there is power in a story. And if someone pays you such a kindness as to make up a tale so you'll enjoy a gingersnap, you go along with that story and enjoy every last bite.

Who would dream that one can love without being crushed under the weight of it?