“Living is getting knocked down time and again, then standing up time and again, and once more. It's easy to act honorable when things are coming along and all your pastures are green. Plenty difficult when the ground is dried… — Nancy E. Turner Copy Share Image
“It's easy to act honorable when things are coming along and all your pastures are green."Sarah Agnes Prine” — 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
