I just finished Colson Whitehead's "The Underground Railroad," which I think is a work of genius.

Crying wasn't like riding a bike. Give it up, and you quickly forget how it's done.

Remember what I've told you. Remember me.

Love was like that, like a dream you didn't quite understand, one in which you didn't necessarily know what you were looking at until it was right in front of you.

But what we are given is taken as well, so that we know God's glory comes to us from His will alone.

But most important of all, she explained that it was all right to say 'No. I disagree.' that was a gift. I understood it was power. The power to think my own thoughts. The power to believe in myself.

I don't think I make much of a distinction between the 'real' and the 'fantastic.' They both seem to be threads in the same cloth as far as I'm concerned.