I am a moralist. I worry.

All of us--all who knew her--felt so wholesome after we cleaned ourselves on her. We were so beautiful when we stood astride her ugliness. Her simplicity decorated us, her guilt sanctified us, her pain made us glow with health, her awkwardness made us think we had a sense of humor. Her inarticulateness made us believe we were eloquent. Her poverty kept us generous. Even her waking dreams we used--to silence our own nightmares.

There is really nothing more to say - except why. But since why is difficult to handle, one must take refuge in how.

There is no such thing as race. None. There is just a human race - scientifically, anthropologically. Racism is a construct, a social construct... it has a social function, racism.

I don't think one parent can raise a child. I don't think two parents can raise a child. You really need the whole village.

Love just seems to make life not just livable, but a gallant, gallant event.

Like any artist without an art form, she became dangerous.