The best thing a girl can be is a good wife and mother. It is a girl's highest calling. I hope I am ready. — Nancy E. Turner Copy Share Image
“Mama said it's probably because of Suzanne, and that you are never the same after a child dies. That made me wonder what she was like before Clover died, because I don't think I really knew my own mother until… — Nancy E. Turner Copy Share Image
What a pure blessing it was to have a bath in a tub alone in a room where all you had to do was… — Nancy E. Turner Copy Share Image
“Goats are naught but bones and bleating, and their hair was not warm nor their bodies soft. Of course, there was the smell, too,… — Nancy E. Turner Copy Share Image
“Our children weigh hard on my heart, and thinking about them growing up honest and healthy, or just living to grow up at all,… — Nancy E. Turner Copy Share Image
I have a deep-down belief that there are folks in the world who are good through and through, and others who came in mean… — Nancy E. Turner Copy Share Image
“My life is a tree and I can stay in one place and spread out in all directions, and I can do more learning… — Nancy E. Turner Copy Share Image
Children are a burden to a mother, but not the way a heavy box is to a mule. Our children weight hard on my… — Nancy E. Turner Copy Share Image
“I rode toward Rudolfo Maldonado's house, planning to murder him before he got his morning shave.” — Nancy E. Turner Copy Share Image
“I have been sad almost a whole year, thinking that taking that test was somehow the end of my learning and that not having… — Nancy E. Turner Copy Share Image
“Low down dirty ornery rotten skunk of a cussed mule-headed soldier! What's he want with my book anyway? And what kind of a way… — Nancy E. Turner Copy Share Image
How fragile our lives are anyway. How quickly things can change forever. — Nancy E. Turner Copy Share Image
“It is an awful thing to look on such sad circumstance and not be able to shed a tear. It is not because I… — Nancy E. Turner Copy Share Image
I dream of land, cut only where streams glistened with birdsong wander through quiet hills burnt hard by the scrape of wind, and of… — Nancy E. Turner Copy Share Image
