Best 17 quotes of Sandra Dallas on MyQuotes

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.

It was marrying that made women appreciate other women.

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

Nobody starts out a perfect quilter.

The Red Kimono tells it all—the bitterness and pain as well as the joy, pride and patriotism of a people too resilient to be beaten by racism.

The thing I'm writing now, I have various characters, and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, this couple dies. And they have a daughter. ...I thought, 'OK, we have to do something with the daughter' ... then I realized she's not really their daughter. She has her own story. And she's become the most interesting character. She was this throwaway character that I didn't even conceive of before I started writing her into it, and now she's become very important in this book.

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

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

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

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

Emma fussed with the cinnamon-rose starts she had planted all over the backyard. She was as tender with the roses as if they were her children, and every hour or two she watered them.

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

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.

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.

Still, who knew how the old mountain took retribution for having its insides clawed out.

Will had loved the snow, the cleanness of it, the quiet, the sense of peace it brought, had loved it even though winter meant hard chores.

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.