I am aware that no man is a villain in his own eyes.

Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.

An identity is questioned only when it is menaced, as when the mighty begin to fall, or when the wretched begin to rise, or when the stranger enters the gates, never, thereafter, to be a stranger.

Freedom lurked around us and I understood, at last, that he could help us be free if we would listen, that he would never be free until we did.

It is astonishing the lengths to which a person, or a people, will go in order to avoid a truthful mirror.

The American ideal is, after all, that everyone should be as much alike as possible.

People can cry much easier than they can change, a rule of psychology people like me picked up as kids on the street.