Well, what of it? If sex isn’t a joke, what is it
Almost she wished she could die. Not quite. It wasn’t that she was afraid of death, which had, she thought, its picturesque aspects. It was rather that she knew she would not die. And death, after the...
She could neither conform nor be happy in her unconformity. This she saw clearly now, and with cold anger at all the past futile effort. What a waste!
It’s easy for a Negro to ‘pass’ for white. But I don’t think it would be so simple for a white person to ‘pass’ for colored.
And mingled with her disbelief and resentment was another feeling, a question. Why hadn’t she spoken that day? Why, in the face of Bellew’s ignorant hate and aversion, had she concealed her own origin...
She wished to find out about this hazardous business of passing, this breaking away from all that was familiar and friendly to take one’s chance in another environment, not entirely strange, perhaps,...
She said: It’s funny about ‘passing.’ We disapprove of it and at the same time condone it. It excites our contempt and yet we rather admire it. We shy away from it with an odd kind of revulsion, but w...
She regarded with an astonishment that had in it a mild degree of amusement the violence of the feelings which it stirred in her.