I'm pretty sure I can say that no one in my family ever asked Demetrie what it felt like to be black in Mississippi, working for our white family. It never occurred to us to ask. It was everyday life. It wasn't something people felt compelled to examine. I have wished, for many years, that I'd been old enough and thoughtful enough to ask Demetrie that question. She died when I was sixteen. I've spent years imagining what her answer would be. And that is why I wrote this book.

I always order the banned books from a black market dealer in California, figuring if the State of Mississippi banned them, they must be good.

...My sister Doreena who never lifted a royal finger growing up because she had the heart defect that we later found out was a fly on the X-ray machine.

And you call yourself a Christian,' were Hilly's words to me and I thought, God. When did I ever do that?

Great books give you a feeling that you miss all day, until you finally get to crawl back inside those pages again.

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?

Lord, I never seen blue hair on a black woman before or since. Leroy say you look like a cracker from outer space.