"Where?" The woman scowled, bewildered. "Iowa," Agnes repeated loudly. The woman in black touched Agnes's wrist and leaned in confidentially. She mov… - Birds of America

Abby began to think that all the beauty and ugliness and turbulence one found scattered through nature, one could also find in people themselves, all collected there, all together in a single place. No matter what terror or loveliness the earth could produce- wind, seas- a person could produce the same, lived with the same, lived with all that mixed-up nature swirling inside, every bit. There was nothing as complex in the world- no flower or stone- as a single hello from a human being.

Every arrangement in life carried with it the sadness, the sentimental shadow, of its not being something else, but only itself.

And so they drove on. The night before, a whole day could have shape and design. But when it was upon you, it could vanish tragically to air.