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He was like a man who had served a term in prison or had been to Harvard College or had lived for a long time with foreigners in South America. He was like a person who had been somewhere that other people are not likely to go or had done something that others are not apt to do.
The mutual distrust between the men who were just awakened and those who were ending a long night gave everyone a feeling of estrangement.
Maybe when people longed for a thing that bad the longing made them trust in anything that might give it to them. Mick
Because of the insolence of all the white race he was afraid to lose his dignity in friendliness.
Wonderful music like this was the worst hurt there could be. The whole world was this symphony, and there was not enough of her to listen.
And by habit they shortened their thoughts so that they would not wander out into the darkness beyond tomorrow.
The others all have something they hate. And they all have something they love more than eating or sleeping or wine or friendly company. That is why they are always so busy.)
The rich thought that he was rich and the poor considered him a poor man like themselves. And as there was no way to disprove these rumors they grew marvelous and very real. Each man described the mute as he wished him to be.
And how can the dead be truly dead when they still live in the souls of those who are left behind?
‘Git, Lee Jackson. Git, Honey. Pick up your feets and quit this here poking. Us got a long way to go.’
‘Do not attempt to stand alone.’
There was hope in him, and soon perhaps the outline of his journey would take form.
All right! O.K.! Some good.
Somehow he remembered that the awning had not yet been raised. As he went to the door his walk gained steadiness. And when at last he was inside again he composed himself soberly to await the morning sun.
