She is convinced that when language dies, out of carelessness, disuse, indifference and absence of esteem, or killed by fiat, not only she herself, but all users and makers are accountable for its demise. In her country children have bitten their tongues off and use bullets instead to iterate the voice of speechlessness, of disabled and disabling language, of language adults have abandoned altogether as a device for grappling with meaning, providing guidance, or expressing love.

I'm always annoyed about why black people have to bear the brunt of everybody else's contempt. If we are not totally understanding and smiling, suddenly we're demons.

If you surrendered to the air, you could ride it.

If a Negro got legs he ought to use them. Sit down too long, somebody will figure out a way to tie them up.

But to find out the truth about how dreams die, one should never take the word of the dreamer.

A dead hydrangea is as intricate and lovely as one in bloom. Bleak sky is as seductive as sunshine, miniature orange trees without blossom or fruit are not defective; they are that.

Girl, I got my mind. And what goes on in it. Which is to say, I got me...my lonely is mine.