A man ain't nothing but a man. But a son? Well, now, that's somebody.
I write the way women have babies. You don't know it's going to be like that. If you did, there's no way you would go through with it.
If happiness is anticipation with certainty, we were happy.
Love just seems to make life not just livable, but a gallant, gallant event.
The pieces I am, she gather them and gave them back to me in all the right order.
guileless and without vanity,we were still in love with ourselves then. We felt comfortable in our own skins, enjoyed the news that our senses released to us, admired our dirt, cultivated our scars, and could not comprehend this unworthiness.