Friendship is a mysterious and ocean-bottom thing. Who can know the outer ranges of it? Perhaps no human being has ever explored its limits.

Janie saw her life like a great tree in leaf with the things suffered, things enjoyed, things done and undone. Dawn and doom was in the branches

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.

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

Bitterness is the coward's revenge on the world for having been hurt.

There is something about poverty that smells like death.

I hold that any religion that satisfies the individual urge is valid for that person.