How far back must you go to discover the beginning of trouble?

I walked along the side with the spray-painted trees, some in white like a starched chemical snowfall, others painted gold, pink, red, even black. The black tree, about three feet high, looked like it had been burnt. I wondered who would want a black tree, but I knew someone would. There was no limit to the ways in which people could be strange."   ~ White Oleander

We have nothing now between us, save - respect, perhaps. And I think that respect has maybe room for secrets, but not for lies.

Written By Diana Gabaldon

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