When you love a man, he becomes more than a body. His physical limbs expand, and his outline recedes, vanishes. He is rich and sweet and right. He is part of the world, the atmosphere, the blue sky and the blue water.

She was learning to love moments. To love moments for themselves.

It frightens me to realize that, if I had died before the age of fifty, I would have died a 'Negro' fraction.

Art is a refining and evocative translation of the materials of the world.

Nothing could stop Mississippi.

Art hurts. Art urges voyages - and it is easier to stay at home.

What, what am I to do with all of this life?