To me, bitterness is the under-arm odor of wishful weakness. It is the graceless acknowledgment of defeat.

She had waited all her life for something, and it had killed her when it found her.

She's got those big black eyes with plenty shiny white in them that makes them shine like brand new money and she knows what God gave women eyelashes for, too. Her hair is not what you might call straight. It's negro hair, but it's got a kind of white flavor. Like the piece of string out of a ham. It's not ham at all, but it's been around ham and got the flavor.

They bowed down to him rather, because he was all of these things, and then again he was all of these things because the town bowed down.

Now they got to look into me loving Tea Cake and see whether it was done right or not! They don't know if life is a mess of corn-meal dumplings, and if love is a bed-quilt!

Sweat, sweat, sweat! Work and sweat, cry and sweat, pray and sweat!

Perhaps love is a compelling necessity imposed on man by God that has something to do with suffering