Welcome to my page of quotations that are from dedications in books. When authors put a little extra effort and creativity into the dedication rather than simply writing “For Someone,” it’s as if they adorn the entryway to their story with a welcoming porch light and garland.
For Beatrice —
Dead women tell no tales.
Sad men write them down.
~Lemony Snicket, The Grim Grotto, 2004
This book is dedicated to
MY SON, GUY JOHNSON,
and all the strong
black birds of promise
who defy the odds and gods
and sing their songs
~Maya Angelou, I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, 1969
For my wife, our daughters, and our parents, and to the unending wonder of the continuum
~Nicholas A. Basbanes, A Splendor of Letters, 2003
To the Spirit:
Without whose assistance
Neither this book
Would have been
~Alice Walker, The Color Purple, 1982
LYMAN BEECHER, D.D.
To you I owe more than to any other living being. In childhood, you were my Parent; in later life, my Teacher; in manhood, my Companion…
~Henry Ward Beecher, Lectures to Young Men, on Various Important Subjects, 1844
To Tim, with love —
so that the whole world will know
how much you mean to me
~Jodi Picoult, Salem Falls, 2001
For Tim, because I am at home in your heart
~Ellery Adams, Poisoned Prose, 2013
Lady Bird Johnson
Not all the soldiers were in Vietnam.
This one was in the White House.
~Rita Mae Brown, Dolley, 1994
To those who see trees.
~Douglas Wood, The Things Trees Know, 2005
To the men and women who wrote this book,
and speak to us here and now, of things without time;
and those who speak to us, here and now, from beyond the stars
~John K. Terres, Things Precious & Wild, 1991
At turn of year, when winter’s past
and spring’s at hand, I think at last
I understand. Then comes the night
when peepers shrill and geese in flight
gabble the moon. And then I say
that all I know can be stowed away
in an acorn cup. But this is plain:
That snow is snow and rain is rain,
that wind is change, that water ran
before earth felt the foot of man;
that flesh and blood of me are kinned
with grass and bush and tree and wind;
that love is sweet and salt are tears;
that days become the turning years;
that I am new and time is old;
that love is warm and hate is cold.
What more is there to understand
when winter’s past and spring’s at hand?
~Hal Borland, Hal Borland’s Book of Days, 1976
For Barbara, especially in Autumn
I gave you emeralds in May and amethysts in June;
July I gave you turquoise skies and silver stars and moon.
December will bring Diamonds, but before the frosty cold
I give you coal-hot rubies and October’s molten gold.
~Hal Borland, Sundial of the Seasons, 1964