At some point in life the world's beauty becomes enough. You don't need to photograph, paint or even remember it. It is enough.
Guileless and without vanity,we were still in love with ourselves then. We felt comfortable in our own skins, enjoyed the news that our senses released to us, admired our dirt, cultivated our scars, a...
She missed -- without knowing what she missed-- paints and crayons
Nothing could be counted on in a world where even when you were a solution you were a problem.
It was becoming a habit-this concentration on things behind him. Almost as though there were no future to be had. *Milkman*
I sold my elegant blackness to all those childhood ghosts and now they pay me for it.
I know it's trash: just another story made up to scare wicked females and correct unruly children. But it's all I have. I know I need something else. Something better. Like a story that shows how braz...
I have only to break into the tightness of a strawberry, and I see summer – its dust and lowering skies.
You your own best thing, Sethe. You are.
You looked at them and wondered why they were so ugly; you looked closely and could not find the source. Then you realized that it came from conviction, their conviction. It was as though some mysteri...
What's the world for you if you can't make it up the way you want it?
What you do to children matters. And they might never forget.
Their drift away from others produced a selfish privacy and they had lost the refuge and the consolation of a clan. Baptists, Presbyterians, tribe, army, family, some encircling outside thing was need...
Say make me, remake me. You are free to do it and I am free to let you because look, look. Look where your hands are. Now.
Pain. I seem to have an affection, a kind of sweettooth for it. Bolts of lightning, little rivulets of thunder. And I the eye of the storm.
Me and you, we got more yesterday than anybody. We need some kind of tomorrow.
In a way, her strangeness, her naiveté, her craving for the other half of her equation was the consequence of an idle imagination. Had she paints, or clay, or knew the discipline of the dance, or stri...
I told you again that you were the reason Adam ate the apple and its core. That when he left Eden, he left a rich man. Not only did he have Eve, but he had the taste of the first apple in the world in...
And in all those escapes he could not help being astonished by the beauty of this land that was not his. He his in its breast, fingered its earth for food, clung to its banks to lap water and tried no...
All she saw, down in the cellar well beneath the stoop, was a light yellow feather with a tip of green. And she had never named him. Had called him my parrot all these years. My parrot. Love you. Love...