Quotes from Gina Berriault

Some days after, the girl encountered her again, in a dream, as she was years ago: a very slender young woman in a long white skirt, her amber hair to her waist, her eyes coal black with ardor.

The day was cold, and every time the little transparent fans of water swept in and drew back, the wet sand mirrored a clear sky and the sun on its way down.

You can puzzle over lines all your life and never be satisfied with the meanings you get.

If your father was just an ordinary father and told everybody he had no son, people would call him a liar. But if your father was famous for all the saints he was making and said he had no son, then he had no son, period.