It was not death she feared. It was misunderstanding.

I love myself when I am laughing. . . and then again when I am looking mean and impressive.

Lack of power and opportunity passes off too often for virtue.

Janie looked down on him and felt a self-crushing love. So her soul crawled out from its hiding place.

Here was peace. She pulled in her horizon like a great fish-net. Pulled it from around the waist of the world and draped it over her shoulder. So much of life in its meshes! She called in her soul to come and see.

The sun had become a light yellow yolk and was walking with red legs across the sky.

Grab the broom of anger and drive off the beast of fear.