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Stephen Hyter
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"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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There were ever so many things to be done.

It's just that I'm here to till the soil. I have many people and even more animals tor provide for. We live off the land.

"You mustn't cry about that," Isak says, "we're none of us as we should be."

Because the laws are made by men. There you have the answer. We are at a pass where we have to invoke heaven's protection against these man-made laws! And it will not get better until we women join in and get a say in the elections and in parliament.

And time goes by, the winter passes, spring is here again.

God only knows where all things come from, nothing has a single cause, everything has a series of causes.

No, Sivert didn't talk in long jingles, he was a dweller in the wilds, quiet and trustworthy. What was there to talk about?

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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
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