The Invention of Wings

by Sue Monk Kidd

We could fly all right, but it wasn’t any magic to it.

A slave was supposed to be like the Holy Ghost—don’t see it, don’t hear it, but it’s always hovering round on ready.

If you must err, do so on the side of audacity.

Please, God, let this seed you planted in me bear fruit.

Folks feared a fire worse than the devil.

A voice called steady in my head, Get up from there. Get up from there and look her in the face. Dare her to strike you. Dare her. I got on my feet and poked my face at her. My eyes said, Hit me, I dare you. Missus let her arm drop and stepped back.

Cross the water, cross the sea Let them fishes carry me. If that water take too long, Carry me on, Carry me on.

There was so much in the world to be had and not had.

maybe the world had a colored God,

“Every man is guilty of all the good he didn’t do.”

It never occurred to her their gaiety wasn’t contentment, but survival.

I would not give up. I would err on the side of audacity. That was what I’d always done.

There’s no pain on earth that doesn’t crave a benevolent witness.

The sorry truth is you can walk your feet to blisters, walk till kingdom-come, and you never will outpace your grief.

She was full of fiery opinions and mutinous acts.

Mr. Vesey said one time at church: I have one mind for the master to see. I have another mind for what I know is me.

Now let me fly, now let me fly, now let me fly way up high.

“To remain silent in the face of evil is itself a form of evil.”

The world was a bashed-in place and she couldn’t fix it.