A burnt finger remember the fire.

There is always a moment in any kind of struggle when one feels in full bloom. Vivid. Alive. One might be blown to bits in such a moment and still be at peace.

Well, sometime Mr —— git on me pretty hard. I have to talk to Old Maker. But he my husband. I shrug my shoulders. This life soon be over, I say. Heaven last all ways. You ought to bash Mr —— head open, she say. Think bout heaven later.

I can spend two hours grubbing about in my garden, dazed with pleasure and intent, and it feels like five minutes.

Every time I conjure up a rock, I throw it.

How anyone cannot see that Nature is God is amazing to me: that they'd rather worship something that can only exist, really, in their own minds.

It's better to have your blackness taken away than to stand and lie about who you actually are.