If singing was a color, it would've been the color of that chocolate.

She's wearing a tight red sweater and a red skirt and enough makeup to scare a hooker.

it always sound scarier when a hollerer talk soft.

Mississippi is like my mother. I am allowed to complain about her all I want, but God help the person who raises an ill word about her around me, unless she is their mother too.

Cause everbody care. Black, white, deep down we all do.

I always thought insanity would be a dark, bitter feeling, but it is drenching and delicious if you really roll around in it.

Miss Celia stares down into the pot like she's looking for her future. "Are you happy, Minny?" "Why you ask me funny questions like that?" "But are you?" "Course I's happy. You happy too. Big house, big yard, husband looking after you." I frown at Miss Celia and I make sure she can see it. Because ain't that white people for you, wondering if they are happy ENOUGH.