Jeremy Difonzo

“Are you really a reporter?” asked Brown.
“You already asked me that. Come back to Levita, take the pardon.”
 “I doubt I’ll live long enough to get there,” said Brown bitterly.
“I hope you survive. You are a fighter. And we have the antidote for your habit on
Levita. I suggest you take a vacation. There’s nothing much that’s going to happen here.”
With that she left, leaving Brown more confused than ever.
He was a father, he had a son. And, the Levitians had a cure for his drug-addled body.”
― Max Nowaz, The Arbitrator

“I'm pretty sure I can say that no one in my family ever asked Demetrie what it felt like to be black in Mississippi, working for our white family. It never occurred to us to ask. It was everyday life. It wasn't something people felt compelled to examine.
I have wished, for many years, that I'd been old enough and thoughtful enough to ask Demetrie that question. She died when I was sixteen. I've spent years imagining what her answer would be. And that is why I wrote this book.”
― Kathryn Stockett, The Help

“I sip my coffee. I look at the mountain, which is still doing its tricks, as you look at a still-beautiful face belonging to a person who was once your lover in another country years ago: with fond nostalgia, and recognition, but no real feelings save a secret astonishment that you are now strangers. Thanks. For the memories. It is ironic that the one thing that all religions recognize as separating us from our creator--our very self-consciousness--is also the one thing that divides us from our fellow creatures. It was a bitter birthday present from evolution, cutting us off at both ends.”
― Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

“Susan shut her eyes. She could feel the power of the mountain flowing into her, she could sense every small detail within the bounds of her father’s domain, feel every living thing, the men and women and children and wildlife, the birds in the air and in the trees and on the ground, the hares and the foxes and the sheep, squirrels and red deer, natterjack toads and adders, and there were other mythic beings, too, water-fay in the lake and tarns, knocker goblins in the old copper and shale workings, the Fenris over on the western shore of Windermere .”
― Garth Nix, The Left-Handed Booksellers of London