... Sometimes You Have To

I've Always Thought Of Myself As A Reporter.

I Don't Like The Idea Of The Black Race Being Diluted Out Of Existence. I Like The Idea Of All Of Us Being Here.

Art Is A Refining And Evocative Translation Of The Materials Of The World.

She Was Afraid To Suggest To Him That To Most People, Nothing "happens." That Most People Merely Live From Day To Day Until They Die. That, After He Had Been Dead A Year, Doubtless Fewer Than Five People Would Think Of Him Oftener Than Once A Year. That There Might Even Come A Year When No One On Earth Would Think Of Him At All.

With Melted Opals For My Milk, Pearl-leaf For My Cracker.