Because Of Writers Like Chinua

He Was Making Her Feel Small And Absurdly Petulant And, Worse Yet, She Suspected He Was Right. She Always Suspected He Was Right. For A Brief Irrational Moment, She Wished She Could Walk Away From Him. Then She Wished, More Rationally, That She Could Love Him Without Needing Him. Need Gave Him Power Without His Trying; Need Was The Choicelessness She Often Felt Around Him.

She Rested Her Head Against His And Felt, For The First Time, What She Would Often Feel With Him: A Self-affection. He Made Her Like Herself.

I Have Many Problems In My Life, But I Don't Think That Identity Is One Of Them.

When It Comes To Dressing Well, American Culture Is So Self-fulfilled That It Has Not Only Disregarded This Courtesy Of Self-presentation, But Has Turned That Disregard Into A Virtue. "we Are Too Superior/busy/cool/not-uptight To Bother About How We Look To Other People, And So We Can Wear Pajamas To School And Underwear To The Mall.

The Real Tragedy Of Our Postcolonial World Is Not That The Majority Of People Had No Say In Whether Or Not They Wanted This New World; Rather, It Is That The Majority Have Not Been Given The Tools To Negotiate This New World.