Quotes from Sandra Dallas

You know what a storyteller is, don't you? It's a person that has a good memory who hopes other people don't.

After all, a woman didn't leave much behind in the world to show she'd been there. Even the children she bore and raised got their father's name. But her quilts, now that was something she could pass on.

When it's raining pudding, hold up your bowl.

Hennie replies to, How are you doing? 'I'm deteriorating at a normal rate.

Don't mind her. She keeps her nose so high in the air, she's liable to drown in a good rainstorm.

Jam on a winter took away the blue devils. It was like tasting summer.

She wasn't soft, but she never saw the sense of a living thing dying such a cruel death just for some woman's vanity. Still, she thought, a fur coat when the wind blew down off the Tenmile Range would feel mighty good. Maybe they made fur coats out of foxes that died of old age.

Marriage has taught me that women are the only ones who apologize.

for pleasing to me are meadows and a far view

There's a special kind of man who plants a tree when he knows he'll move on before it's big enough for him to sit in it's shade.

Love is not limited.

Nobody starts out a perfect quilter.

She wasn't any bigger than a minute and had hair like wild gold, and she was always merry as a marriage bell.

She remembered how Billy always picked the first apple blossoms and put them into a tin cup for her. They made the house smell like springtime. Billy said apple trees were a double blessing, first for the blossoms and then the apples.

Stories were a living thing. They changed to suit the teller or the times.

I told him I was so happy that I had nothing else to pray for. 'Why,'says I, I've got prayers to sell.

Dawn was her favorite time of day. God birthed the world then, she thought.

You may hate being pregnant, but the minute the baby is born, she is God's precious child, given to you as a gift.

Quilts are like lives. They're made up of a lot of little pieces," Nit said.

Sophie Kruger had worked in a house herself, up in Middle Swan. But now she pretended she was quality. There were none so self-righteous as those who rewrote their past.

we women always feel guilt, even about things that can't be helped.

Both of them loved the earth and the things that grew in it.

Will was dead, but Missouri Ann was going to have a baby. Birth and death were God's way, she told herself. Joy and sorrow were joined together.

boys grow up and cleave to their wives. A girl is a daughter forevermore, no matter where she goes or how many young'uns she has.