It Is Sad That Unless

What I Really Want To Write About Is Injustice And Justice, And The Different Ways Human Beings Organize The Two.

It Is True That Our Skin Is Sort Of More Or Less The Same Shade. But Is It True That Our Skin Color Makes Us A Distinctive Race? No.

I Had Come To Feel That My Mother's Love For Me Was Designed Solely To Make Me Into An Echo Of Her; And I Didn't Know Why, But I Felt That I Would Rather Be Dead Than Become Just An Echo Of Someone.

It's Not That I'm A Very Good Person. It's That I Think I Should At Least Look At The Ways In Which I Am Not A Good Person, The Ways In Which I So Readily Become The Person Who Would Not Notice That The Wonderful Clothing I'm Wearing Someone Is Probably Dying For.

He Must Have Smiled At Me, Though I Don't Really Know, But I Don't Like To Think That I Would Love Someone Who Hadn't First Smiled At Me.