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Stephen Hyter
"Some day you will die and somehow something's going to steal your carbon"
"Some day you will die and somehow something's going to steal your carbon"

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A plantation was a plantation; one might think one's misfortunes distinct, but the true horror lay in their universality.

"I don't get where it says, He that stealeth a man and sells him, shall be put to death," Cora said. "But then later it says, Slaves should be submissive to their masters in everything - and be wellpleasing." Either it was a sin to keep another as property, or it had God's own blessing. But to be wellpleasing in addition? A slaver must have snuck into the printing office and put that in there.

It was tragic, Ridgeway said, to see the degeneration that can happen in just one generation, but money does that to a family sometimes. Brings out the impurities.

That's what the law says. White law. There are other ones.

Temperance was the rule except for Saturday night, when those with a taste for spirits partook and had something to think about at the next morning's sermon.

Even if the adults were free of the shackles that had held them fast, bondage had stolen too much time. Only the children could take full advantage of their dreaming. If white men let them.

He'd broken through into a small corner of American success where his race did not curse him. Some might have lived in that space happily, rising alone. Lander wanted to make room for others. People were wonderful company sometimes.

"I'm what the botanists call a hybrid," he said the first time Cora hear him speak. "A mixture of two different families. In flowers, such a concoction pleases the eye. When that amalgamation takes its shape in flesh and blood, some take great offense. In this room we recognize it for what it is - a new beauty come into the world, and it is in bloom all around us."

For we are Africans in America. Something new in the history of the world, without models for what we will become.

The world may be mean, but people don't have to be, not if they refuse.

Underground Railroad, Colston Whitehead

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

Second Coming - William ButlerYeats

if I thought after I left that music was still playing and I not there I should be quite melancholy like

stirring times we live in, stirring the face of nations alter, and what we live to see nowadays

such a blessing it is to be high born

too much liquor is bad and leads us to that horned man in the smokey house

she was of the stuff of which great men's mothers are made

Far From the Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy

I had come to see language as an almost supernatural force, existing between people, bringing our brains, shielded in centimeter-thick skulls, into communion.

You can’t ever reach perfection, but you can believe in an asymptote toward which you are ceaselessly striving.

When Breath Becomes Air, Paul Kalanithi

The progression of years, the crossing of an ocean, the accumulation of mouths to feed, the heaping of trouble upon trouble, year upon year, was something to boast about too, like the gathering of great wealth. He could not buy shoes with it, but it had happened to him.

For he was highly sensitive to the distinction of class and race, to the suffering it entailed, and he was bitterly against it.

And I'm worried, and your mother is coming, and I say to myself, I say, I think I'll go downtown and have a few drinks. Because I got troubles. Because I got kids.

Wait For Spring, Bandini - John Fante
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