Sugar

'Sugar, aint you ever had no good time?' she said with a bit of sadness in her voice. 'What you mean?' Sugar said,... 'Seems to me that I ain't never see you look up from whatever you were doing and just smile.' 'Just smile? Smile at what? At who?' 'Smile into the air, girl!' she said and waved her arm through the air....you better start, 'cause time is running and a life without good times ain't a life worth having.

When things were bad, time had a habit of taking its time to pass, making sure you experienced every painful moment. When things were good and contentment abundant, time moved like the wind, hurrying precious moments along and forcing things that normally require nurturing to grow and forge quickly.

But grief let loose from a woman who lost a child—that was the worst type of grief of all.

Baby, everybody got their own reasons for doing things they do in life. It don’t matter what her reason was at the time, what matters is she come back for you, and even though you might think it’s too late, it ain’t never too late where a mother and her child is concerned.

Joe lulls the man into the afterlife, places his head gently on the ground, closes the lids over his empty eyes, retrieves his gun and continues to fight for a freedom he would never be fully entitled to.

Baby, everybody got their own reasons for doing things they do in life.

Sugar ain’t spoiled, she just a little bruised, is all. Bruises can heal and fade away to nothing.

What kinda women you is? You gonna let a man lay up on another woman in your own house and not do nothing about it?

You see, no one ever told her to keep her legs closed and crossed at the ankles. No one ever said: “Save it for the one you love” or “Good girls say no.

Keeping her man well fed and fucked are number one priorities that she can’t slack on because you can never know when a woman dressed to the nines with a blond wig, long legs and a high fat ass that should have been equal to you in almost every way may decide to hop on the first southbound Greyhound and end up looking at you through whispering letters on a dusty storefront window.

There’s a little bit of hooker in every woman. A little bit of hooker and a little bit of God.” —Sarah Miles