Everything can't be explained by some general biological phrase.

Children aren't everything. There are other things in the world, though I admit some people don't seem to suspect it.

These people yapped loudly of race, of race consciousness, of race pride, and yet suppressed its most delightful manifestations, love of color, joy of rhythmic motion, naive, spontaneous laughter. Harmony, radiance, and simplicity, all the essentials of spiritual beauty in the race they had marked for destructions.

Authors do not supply imaginations, they expect their readers to have their own, and to use it

The trouble with Clare was, not only that she wanted to have her cake and eat it too, but that she wanted to nibble at the cakes of other folk as well.

I think being a mother is the cruelest thing in the world.

Authors do not supply imaginations.