There is a certain kind of peace that is not merely the absence of war. It is larger than that. The peace I am thinking of is not at the mercy of history's rule, nor is it a passive surrender to the status quo. The peace I am thinking of is the dance of an open mind when it engages another equally open one -- an activity that occurs most naturally, most often in the reading/writing world we live in. Accessible as it is, this particular kind of peace warrants vigilance.

I wish I’d a knowed more people. I would of loved ‘em all. If I’d a knowed more, I would a loved more

He leans over and takes her hand. With the other he touches her face. ‘You your best thing, Sethe. You are.’ His holding fingers are holding hers. ‘Me? Me?

If you can't count, they can cheat you. If you can't read, they can beat you.

We die. That may be the meaning of life. But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives.

Along with the idea of romantic love, she was introduced to another - physical beauty. Probably the most destructive ideas in the history of human thought. Both originated in envy, thrived in insecurity, and ended in disillusion.

Misery don't call ahead. That's why you have to stay awake - otherwise it just walks on in your door.