" Dill" tasted of fresh dill, a bright grassy entryway leading into a room where something faintly medicinal had recently been stored. This happy coincidence of meaning and flavor, however, didn't leave the word neutralized and without power. The word could still disrupt, dismay, or delight. In this instance, "Dill" was a promise ring. Inside its one syllable was a summer that would bring, along with the fireflies and the scuppernongs, a boy who would kiss me when my brother, Jem, wasn't looking. "

― Monique Truong , Bitter in the Mouth