Prisons! Prisons! Prisons, dungeons, blessed places where evil is impossible since they are the crossroads of all the malediction in the world. One cannot commit evil in evil.

on him, under him, with his mouth pressed to hers, he sang to her uncouth songs that moved through her body.

The pimp has a grin, never a smile.

They spent their time doing nothing... they let intimacy fuse them.

What I did not yet know so intensely was the hatred of the white American for the black, a hatred so deep that I wonder if every white man in this country, when he plants a tree, doesn't see Negroes hanging from its branches.

Limited by the world, which I oppose, jagged by it, I shall be all the more handsome and sparkling as the angles which wound me and give me shape are more acute and the jagging more cruel.

Would Hamlet have felt the delicious fascination of suicide if he hadn't had an audience, and lines to speak?