What I don't write is as important as what I write.

In my writing I'm trying to explore the violations people commit upon each other. And the important thing isn't whether I'm angry. The more important thing is, is it true? Do these things really happen?

The shadow of my mother danced around the room to a tune that my own shadow sang.

I write a lot in my head. The revision goes on internally. It's not spontaneous and it doesn't have a schedule.

Once you cease to be a master, once you throw off your master's yoke, you are no longer human rubbish, you are a human being, and all the things that adds up to. So, too, with the slaves. Once they are no longer slaves, once they are free, they are no longer noble and exalted; they are just human beings.

It was hollow, my triumph, I could feel that, but I held on to it just the same.

I wouldn't mind being labeled as "angry," if it wasn't used once again to denigrate and belittle.