Mystery is the essence of divinity

I have been in Sorrow's kitchen and licked out all the pots. Then I have stood on the peaky mountain wrapped in rainbows, with a harp and sword in my hands.

I am her friend, and her tongue is in my mouth. I can speak her sentiments for her, though Ethel Waters can do very well indeed in speaking for herself.

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.

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

She stood there until something fell off the shelf inside her.

anytime you catch folks lying, they scared of something!