It's still scary every time I go back to the past. Each morning, my heart catches. When I get there, I remember how the light was, where the draft was coming from, what odors were in the air. When I write, I get all the weeping out.

Whining lets the brute know there's a victim for him in the neighborhood!

The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.

Writing and cookery are just two different means of communication.

The whites were really brutishly ignorant, blitheringly, so they killed people sometimes - just came into the African-American community and maimed people because they didn't agree with God's choice for the colors of the people's skin.

The loss of young first love is so painful that it borders on the ludicrous.

Love liberates. It doesn't just hold, that's ego. Love liberates.