Love, what a strange concept, really. Two strangers meet accidentally, fall in love, and decide to spend the rest of their lives together, kids and everything. Coincidence into destiny – that is what love does. A chance meeting that becomes life itself.
It is tough being black in this country. I miss the luxury of being an ethnic majority. I have counted the different kinds of racism – overt, class, institutional, historical, paternalistic, violent, subtle, with a goal, without a goal, conscious, unconscious. To be black is to be in a constant war – one has to weigh battles and fights worth the trouble and those that detract.
Sometimes to find peace you have to trust your enemy with your life.
Love is never any better than the lover. Wicked people love wickedly, violent people love violently, weak people love weakly, stupid people love stupidly…
Winter tightened our heads with a band of cold and melted our eyes.
Beauty was not simply something to behold; it was something one could do.
To know is sometimes good, but to have the wisdom to accept what you cannot know is better.