Race as a subject only comes about because of what I look like. If I say something truthfully, people say "Oh, she's so angry." If I write about a married person who lives in Vermont, it becomes "Oh, she's autobiographical."

I was then at the height of my two-facedness: that is, outside I seemed one way, inside I was another; outside false, inside true.

I would be lost without the feeling of antagonism that people have towards me. I write out of defiance.

Like father like son, like mother like daughter!

The slave trade was globalism. Why people insist that globalism, after its hideous history, is a good thing, I do not know.

The garden has taught me to live, to appreciate the times when things are fallow and when they're not.

It is true that our skin is sort of more or less the same shade. But is it true that our skin color makes us a distinctive race? No.