Yes, I am sad, sad as a circus-lioness, sad as an eagle without wings, sad as a violin with only one string and that one broken, sad as a woman who is growing old. Sad, sad, sad.

All of a writer that matters is in the book or books. It is idiotic to be curious about the person.

I found when I was a child that if I put the hurt into words, it would go.

They say when trouble comes close ranks, and so the white people did.

that expression you get in your eyes when you are very tired and everything is like a dream and you are starting to know what things are like underneath what people say they are.

She had left me thirsty and all my life would be thirst and longing for what I had lost before I found it.

But they never last, the golden days. And it can be sad, the sun in the afternoon, can't it? Yes, it can be sad, the afternoon sun, sad and frightening.