If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.

You wanna fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down.

Freeing yourself was one thing, claiming ownership of that freed self was another.

Love is or it ain't. Thin love ain't love at all.

At some point in life the world's beauty becomes enough. You don't need to photograph, paint, or even remember it. It is enough.

She is a friend of my mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order.

Sweet, crazy conversations full of half sentences, daydreams and misunderstandings more thrilling than understanding could ever be.

And I am all the things I have ever loved: scuppernong wine, cool baptisms in silent water, dream books and number playing.

Don't ever think I fell for you, or fell over you. I didn't fall in love, I rose in it.

Definitions belong to the definers, not the defined.

Like any artist without an art form, she became dangerous.

You are your best thing

In this country American means white. Everybody else has to hyphenate.

Lonely, ain't it? Yes, but my lonely is mine. Now your lonely is somebody else's. Made by somebody else and handed to you. Ain't that something? A secondhand lonely.

Love is never any better than the lover.

What difference do it make if the thing you scared of is real or not?

The function of freedom is to free someone else.

As you enter positions of trust and power, dream a little before you think.

If you surrendered to the air, you could ride it.

There is really nothing more to say-except why. But since why is difficult to handle, one must take refuge in how.

He wants to put his story next to hers.

It is sheer good fortune to miss somebody long before they leave you.

A sister can be seen as someone who is both ourselves and very much not ourselves - a special kind of double.

It was a fine cry - loud and long - but it had no bottom and it had no top, just circles and circles of sorrow.

Me and you, we got more yesterday than anybody. We need some kind of tomorrow.

Lonely was much better than alone.

Anything dead coming back to life hurts.

All paradises, all utopias are designed by who is not there, by the people who are not allowed in. [Conversation with Elizabeth Farnsworth, PBS NewsHour, March 9, 1998]

If they put an iron circle around your neck I will bite it away

A dream is just a nightmare with lipstick.

Pain. I seem to have an affection, a kind of sweettooth for it. Bolts of lightning, little rivulets of thunder. And I the eye of the storm.

We die. That may be the meaning of life. But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives.

She is a friend of mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order. It's good, you know, when you got a woman who is a friend of your mind.

Anger is better. There is a sense of being in anger. A reality and presence. An awareness of worth. It is a lovely surging.

All water has a perfect memory and is forever trying to get back to where it was.

I dream a dream that dreams back at me

To get to a place where you could love anything you chose--not to need permission for desire--well now _that_ was freedom.

Not knowing it was hard; knowing it was harder

Something that is loved is never lost.

They encouraged you to put some of your weight in their hands and soon as you felt how light and lovely it was, they studied your scars and tribulations...

What I think the political correctness debate is really about is the power to be able to define. The definers want the power to name. And the defined are now taking that power away from them.

If you're going to hold someone down you're going to have to hold on by the other end of the chain. You are confined by your own repression.

Let me tell you something. A man ain’t a goddamn ax. Chopping, hacking, busting every goddamn minute of the day. Things get to him. Things he can’t chop down because they’re inside.

The hopelessness that comes from knowing too little and feeling too much (so brittle, so dry he is in danger of the reverse: feeling nothing and knowing everything)

Writing is really a way of thinking--not just feeling but thinking about things that are disparate, unresolved, mysterious, problematic or just sweet.

What's the world for you if you can't make it up the way you want it?

Beauty was not simply something to behold; it was something one could do.

She learned the intricacy of loneliness: the horror of color, the roar of soundlessness and the menace of familiar objects lying still.

To be given dominion over another is a hard thing; to wrest dominion over another is a wrong thing; to give dominion of yourself to another is a wicked thing.

Black literature is taught as sociology, as tolerance, not as a serious, rigorous art form.