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“We all die at the end,” Mama said. “What we do before the end is what counts.
The trouble is, Red, that you can imagine too many possibilities. And imagining all the possibilities can get you in hot water just as easy as not thinking things through.
She was proud of how even her voice was, how she gave no indication that her mind was galloping in a hundred different directions, imagining possibilities that should not exist.
People were supposed to give a shit about each other, especially in times of need.
she could worry about such things but knew that worrying wouldn’t stop anything that was going to happen.
It wasn’t her place to say meaningless things in the face of his grief. She knew how much she hated sympathy of any kind, how stupid awkward words given only out of obligation made her feel worse.
“Do you think I don’t know what kind of men this world has wrought?” Red said. “Every woman knows. And those men existed before everything fell apart.”
People made so much noise,
