The Auctioneer Quotes

“Perly stood as if frozen in place, watching the turmoil beneath him spread. “Just remember this,” he said in a deep voice that cut neatly through the confusion. “Whatever I’ve done, you’ve let me do.”
― Joan Samson, The Auctioneer

“Their routines took on a primitive rhythm which would soon have acquired a comfort of its own, had it not been jarred anew with every Thursday visitation.”
― Joan Samson, The Auctioneer

“Finally Ma said, “You needn’t act like it wasn’t you first begged him to give it all away. It was you went and gave your ma’s dressin’ table, as I recall, right when John was up for sayin’ no.” “And what if he had, Ma?” Mim shouted. “What if he had said no? You think we’d be better off?”
― Joan Samson, The Auctioneer

“Perly ain’t the kind would of gone off with it, child, if you’d let him know.” “He knows, Ma,” Mim said, her voice rising. “He knows. John told him. I told him. You just wait. He won’t stop.” She started out the front door, but banged back in to say, “All you can do is run, Ma. There are people like that. Either you give in or you run.”
― Joan Samson, The Auctioneer

“It’s somethin’ like what Perly says. We lost the old-time values, to go out and pay good money for chicks already incubated when you keep one good rooster and they’ll come along in their own natural way.” “I’d like to know by which old-time values Harlowe needs such a heap of deputies,” John said.”
― Joan Samson, The Auctioneer

“And we’ll tell stories too—Moses in the bulrushes, wise old Solomon, King Herod and the baby Jesus. It’s almost like living lots of lives at once, telling stories is.”
― Joan Samson, The Auctioneer

“A ripple of attention passed through the crowd. On the porch of the old Fawkes place stood the auctioneer. He was as tall as Gore, but trim and upright. Despite his red plaid shirt open at the neck, there was something sharply formal about his stance which set him apart from the country Saturday slackness of the people waiting for him. His features were fine and tense and his skin was burned almost as brown as his hair. He stood looking out over the crowd, his hands in his pockets.”
― Joan Samson, The Auctioneer

“and she brushed furiously at her hair, as if that would somehow soften the laugh lines around her eyes and make her seventeen again. Now that it was too late, it would have been all right to be admired.”
― Joan Samson, The Auctioneer