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Children are all blindfolds and hammers. Cruel because of what they don’t know.
‘Listen to me. Not one thing in this world more dangerous than a white woman when she bored. You hear?’
All those good-doers, sniffing at the carcass of slavery, craving always to hear the worst thing. The worst thing isn’t that it strips the world to scraps and forces you to fight for them; the worst thing is that one of those scraps is yourself.
A man writes to separate himself from the common history. A woman writes to try to join it.
No matter what any moment holds, memory makes of it either nothing at all, or unending terror, or ceaseless grief.
‘Though I think the point of reading is not to feel more a part of the world, but less. To take oneself out of it. On paper, everything can be hammered into shape, though the world is shapeless.’
You want a confession. Or an explanation. Give me something I can save your neck with. Well. I am guilty of this. I was a woman who loved a woman, chief among the womanly sins, like barrenness and thinking.
