I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “Most likely. ” She folded the blanket with efficient snaps. “And I may be joining you, after what we just did.
We do not know what is on the other side of the storm.
It's weird when you hear teachers call each other by their first names. It's like they're friends or something.
Transcendence and dissolution, always the same thing.
The war keeps taking pieces of me anyway. Makes the rest of me harder to hit.
The war could kill the faith in him, too, if he was not strong or careful enough. He could feel it fluttering within him sometimes, a bird in a cage of knives. Its own blood on its face and wings.
His version of 'real' love isn't sufficient for me, I don't think anyone should settle for so little. It wasn't love - not in the true sense. On my part, it was neediness, insecurity, dependence, habit - desperate to feel loved by a man who was often ambivalent towards me.
As long as one can admire and love, then one is young forever.
For the white man to ask the black man if he hates him is just like the rapist asking the raped, or the wolf asking the sheep, 'Do you hate me?' The white man is in no moral position to accuse anyone else of hate! Why, when all of my ancestors are snake-bitten, and I'm snake-bitten, and I warn my children to avoid snakes, what does that snake sound like accusing me of hate-teaching?
The habits of the West in terms of consumption.