When I pitched headforemost into the world I landed in the crib of Negroism.

If writers were too wise, perhaps no books would get written at all. It might be better to ask yourself 'Why?”'afterwards than before There is no agony like bearing an untold story inside you.

I am not tragically colored. There is no great sorrow dammed up in my soul, nor lurking behind my eyes. I do not mind at all.

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

So she sat on the porch and watched the moon rise. Soon its amber fluid was drenching the earth, and quenching the thirst of the day.

Women forget all the things they don't want to remember, and remember everything they don't want to forget.

She starched and ironed her face, forming it into just what people wanted to see.