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Whose house is this? Whose night keeps out the light In here? Say, who owns this house? It’s not mine. I dreamed another, sweeter, brighter With a view of lakes crossed in painted boats; Of fields wide as arms open for me. This house is strange. Its shadows lie. Say, tell me, why does its lock fit my key?

Look to yourself. You free. Nothing and nobody is obliged to save you but you. Seek your own land. You young and a woman and there's serious limitation in both, but you are a person too. Don't let Lenore or some trifling boyfriend and certainly no devil doctor decide who you are. That's slavery. Somewhere inside you is that free person I'm talking about. Locate her and let her do some good in the world.

Misery don't call ahead. That's why you have to stay awake - otherwise it just walks on in your door.

Come on, girl. Don't cry," whispered Frank. "Why not? I can be miserable if I want to. You don't need to try and make it go away. It shouldn't go away. It's just as sad as it ought to be and I'm not going to hide from what's true just because it hurts." Cee wasn't sobbing anymore, but the tears were still running down her cheeks.

...maybe you think up North is way different from down South. Don't believe it and don't count on it. Custom is just as real as law and can be just as dangerous.

Nothing and nobody is obliged to save you but you.

Death is a sure thing but life is just as certain. Problem is you can't know in advance.

What you want to be when you grow up?” Thomas turned the knob with his left hand and opened the door. “A man,” he said and left.

And for a reason he still did not understand, he began to cry. Love plain, simple, and so fast it shattered him.

Gather up your loins, daughter. You named Lillian Florence Jones after my mother. A toughter lady never lived. Find your talent and drive it.

So it was just herself. In this world with these people she wanted to be the person who would never again need rescue. Not from Lenore through the lies of the Rat, not from Dr. Beau through the courage of Sarah and her brother. [...] She wanted to be the one who rescued her own self. [...] Wishing would not make it so, nor would blame, but thinking might. If she did not respect herself, why should anybody else?

I stood there a long while, staring at that tree. It looked so strong So beautiful. Hurt right down the middle But alive and well. Cee touched my shoulder Lightly. Frank? Yes? Come on, brother. Let's go home.

Why not? I can be miserable if I want to. You don't need to try and make it go away. It shouldn't go away. Its just as sad as it ought to be and I'm not going to hide from what's true just because it hurts.

Well, you know, doctors need to work on the dead poor so they can help the live rich.

She was broken. Not broken up but broken down, down into her separate parts.

his bed was where they slept and where the great thing people warned about or giggled about took place. It was not so much painful as dull. Cee thought it would get better later. Better turned out to be simply more, and while the quantity increased, its pleasure lay in its brevity.

Her garden was not Eden; it was so much more than that.

How did it feel" "Bad. Real bad." "That's good. That it made you feel bad. I'm glad." "How come?" "It means you're not a liar." "You are deep, Thomas." Frank smiled. "What you want to be when you grow up?" Thomas turned the knob with his left hand and opened the door. "A man," he said and left.

Sitting on the train to Atlanta, Frank suddenly realized that those memories, powerful as they were, did not crush him anymore or throw him into paralyzing despair. He could recall every detail, every sorrow, without needing alcohol to steady him. Was this the fruit of sobriety?

I can be miserable if I want to. You don’t need to try and make it go away. It shouldn’t go away. It’s just as sad as it ought to be and I’m not going to hide from what’s true just because it hurts.

You couldn’t learn age, but adulthood was there for all.

Misery don’t call ahead. That’s why you have to stay awake—otherwise it just walks on in your door.

Well, you not the first by a long shot. An integrated army is integrated misery. You all go fight, come back, they treat you like dogs. Change that. They treat dogs better.

He liked Atlanta. Unlike Chicago, the pace of everyday life was human here. Apparently there was time in this city. Time to roll a cigarette just so, time to examine vegetables with the eye of a diamond cutter. And time for old men to gather outside a storefront and do nothing but watch their dreams go by: the gorgeous cars of criminals and the hip-sway of women. Time, too, to instruct one another, pray for one another, and chastise children in the pews of a hundred churches.

I didn't feel anything at first when Miss Ethel told me, but now I think about it all the time. It's like there's a baby girl down here waiting to be born. She's somewhere close by in the air, in this house, and she picked me to be born to. And now she has to find some other mother." Cee began to sob. "Come on girl. Don't cry," whispered Frank. "Why not? I can be miserable if I want to. You don't need to try and make it go away. It shouldn't go away. It's just as sad as it ought to be and I'm not going to hide from what's true just because it hurts.

Exactly the way old folks said: not when you call Him; not when you want Him; only when you need Him and right on time.

After Hiroshima, the musicians understood as early as anyone that Truman's bomb changed everything and only scat and bebop could say how.

...I've had only two regular women. I liked the small breakable thing inside each one. Whatever their personality, smarts, or looks, something soft lay inside each. Like a bird's breastbone, shaped and chosen to wish on. A little V, thinner than bone and lightly hinged, that I could break with a forefinger if I wanted to, but never did. Want to, I mean. Knowing it was there, hiding from me, was enough.

Here Stands A Man. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but he could have sworn the sweet bay was pleased to agree. Its olive-green leaves went wild in the glow of a fat cherry-red sun.

His sister was gutted, infertile, but not beaten. She could know the truth, accept it, and keep on quilting. Frank tried to sort out what else was troubling him and what to do about it.