To all intents and purposes Roxy was as white as anybody, but the one sixteenth of her which was black outvoted the other fifteen parts and made her a Negro. She was a slave, and salable as such.
Green is the soul of Spring. Summer may be dappled with yellow, Autumn with orange and Winter with white but Spring is drenched with the colour green.
I’m not waiting until my hair turns white to become patient and wise. Nope, I’m dyeing my hair tonight.
She walked with a ghost of herself, one full of potential and possibility. One who was fearless. Where had that girl gone?
The Toyota plowed headlong into the boy. But there was no impact. No screams, no blood, no bending metal. The boy simply dematerialized in a swirl of white light.
Telling Sam and Daneca feels like peeling off my own skin to expose everything underneath. It hurts.
The sky was a feather blanket of clouds, save for one blue hole in the fabric. A blue cloud in a white sky.
My mind is a lock pick always looking for another door to open. I often find those doors by exploring minds of others...
When people inexplicably dissapeared into thin air, it was usually because they had a new zip code. Something like 666
"Don't be scared of Bambi" the demon said. "She's only curious and maybe a little bit hungry." The thing was named ?
You need something," he said, and when I stared at him, he added, "Your face." "My face?" "It's in need of my kisses.
I know my breasts, small as plums, would win no blue ribbons. But in your hands they tremble and fill with song like plump, white birds.
. . . finally, I couldn't imagine how I could live without books, and I stopped dreaming about marrying that Chinese prince. . . .
I've got death inside me. It's just a question of whether or not I can outlive it.
Man’s guilt in history and in the tides of his own blood has been complicated by technology, the daily seeping falsehearted death.
See? This is why I'm not religious. I couldn't possibly keep my mouth shut long enough to get along with everyone else.
Let's enjoy these aimless days while we cam, I told myself, fearing some kind of deft acceleration.
I have only a bare working knowledge of the human brain but it's enough to make me proud to be an American.
I took the volume to a table, opened its soft, ivory pages... and fell into it as into a pool during dry season.
What can I say about life? Do I praise it for letting you live, or damn it for allowing the rest?
I was always mortified.Didn't they know they were tying thier mothers to the ground? Weren't chains ashamed of their prisoners?
