Perhaps that's what all human relationships boil down to: Would you save my life? or would you take it?
Much handled things are always soft(27).
Mrs. Breedlove considered herself an upright and Christian woman, burdened with a no-count man, whom God wanted her to punish. (Cholly was beyond redemption, of course, and redemption was hardly the p...
Maybe that was love. Choking sounds and silence.
Jump, if you want to, ‘cause I’ll catch you, girl. I’ll catch you fore you fall. Go as far inside as you need to, I’ll hold your ankles. Make sure you get back out. I’m not saying this because I need...
I used to think to think it was my rememory. You know. Some things you forget. Other things you never do. But it's not. Places, places are still there. If a house burns down, it's gone, but the place-...
Her color is a cross she will always carry.
Hate does that. Burns off everything but itself, so whatever your grievance is, your face looks just like your enemy's.
Freeing yourself was one thing, claiming ownership of that freed self was another.
And fantasy it was, for we were not strong, only aggressive; we were not free, merely licensed; we were not compassionate, we were polite; not good, but well behaved. We courted death in order to call...
A son ain't what a woman say. A son is what a man do.
It hit her like a sledgehammer, and it was then that she knew what to feel. A liquid trail of hate flooded her chest. Knowing that she would hate him long and well filled her with pleasant anticipatio...
We are traditionally rather proud of ourselves for having slipped creative work in there between the domestic chores and obligations. I'm not sure we deserve such big A-pluses for all that.
I think some aspects of writing can be taught. Obviously, you can't teach vision or talent. But you can help with comfort.
The function of freedom is to free someone else.
There is nothing of any consequence in education, in the economy, in city planning, in social policy that does not concern black people.
Today is always here,' said Sethe. 'Tomorrow, never.
There's a difference between writing for a living and writing forlife. If you write for a living, you make enormous compromises....
There is no protection. To be female in this place is to be an open wound that cannot heal. Even if scars form, the festering is ever below.
Then summer came. A summer limp with the weight of blossomed things. Heavy sunflowers weeping over fences; iris curling and browning at the edges far away from their purple hearts; ears of corn lettin...