I reckon that’s the risk you run, letting somebody else raise you chilluns.

I may not remember my name or what country I live in, but you and that pie is something I will never forget.

Ever morning, until you dead in the ground, you gone have to make this decision. You gone have to ask yourself, "Am I gone believe what them fools say about me today?

I used to believe in em (lines). I don't anymore. They in our heads. Lines between black and white ain't there neither. Some folks just made those up, long time ago. And that go for the white trash and the so-ciety ladies too.

I'd cry, if only I had the time to do it.

No one tells us, girls who don't go on dates, that remembering can be almost as good as what actually happens.

Got to be the worst place in the world, inside a oven. You in here, you either cleaning or you getting cooked.