Well, feel this, why don't you? Feel how it feels to have a bed to sleep in and somebody there not worrying you to death about what you got to do each day to deserve it. Feel how that feels. And if that don't get it, feel how it feels to be a colored woman roaming the roads with anything God made liable to jump on you. Feel that.
There is a difference between being put out and being put outdoors. If you are put out, you go somewhere else; if you are outdoors, there is no place to go. The distinction was subtle but final. Outdoors was the end of something, an irrevocable, physical fact, defining and complementing our metaphysical condition... Dead doesn't change, and outdoors is here to stay.
Clever, but schoolteacher beat him anyway to show him that definitions belonged to the definers - not the defined.
You already alone. If you want more alone, I can knock you into the middle of next week, and leave you there.
Not knowing it was hard; knowing it was harder.
Lonely was much better than alone
You your best thing, Sethe. You are.
They had stared at her with great uncomprehending eyes. Eyes that questioned nothing and asked everything. Unblinking and unabashed, they stared up at her. The end of the world lay in their eyes, and the beginning, and all the waste in bewteen.
Definitions belong to the definers, not the defined.
You have pissed your last in this house . . . and I don't make velvet roses anymore.
She is a friend of my mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order.
Love is never any better than the lover.
For now he knew what Shalimar knew: If you surrendered to the air, you could ride it.
They seemed to have taken all of their smoothly cultivated ignorance, their exquisitely learned self-hatred, their elaborately designed hopelessness and sucked it all up into a fiery cone of scorn that had burned for ages in the hollows of their minds - cooled - and spilled over lips of outrage, consuming whatever was in its path.
He wants to put his story next to hers.
Along with the idea of romantic love, she was introduced to another--physical beauty. Probably the most destructive ideas in the history of human thought. Both originated in envy, thrived in insecurity, and ended in disillusion.
Sifting daylight dissolves the memory, turns it into dust motes floating in light.
Misery colored by the greens and blues in my mother's voice took away all the grief out of the words and left me with a conviction that pain was not only endurable, it was sweet.
Gimme hate, Lord,ö he whimpered. ôIÆll take hate any day. But donÆt give me love. I canÆt take no more love, Lord. I canÆt carry it...ItÆs too heavy. Jesus, you know, You know all about it. AinÆt it heavy? Jesus? AinÆt love heavy?
Tough shit, buddy. Your tough shit...
In Ohio seasons are theatrical. Each one enters like a prima donna, convinced its performance is the reason the world has people in it.
Anger is better. There is a sense of being in anger. A reality and presence. An awareness of worth. It is a lovely surging.
Some things you forget. Other things you never do. But it's not. Places, places are still there. If a house burns down, it's gone, but the place--the picture of it--stays, and not just in my remory, but out there, in the world. What I remember is a picture floating around out there outside my head. I mean, even if I don't think if, even if I die, the picture of what I did, or knew, or saw is still out there. Right in the place where it happened.
Never did he once consider directing his hatred toward the hunters. Such an emotion would have destroyed him ... His subconscious knew what his min did not guess-that hating them would have consumed him, burned him up like a piece of soft coal, leaving only flakes of ash and a question mark of smoke.
I wish IÆd a knowed more people. I would of loved æem all. If IÆd a knowed more, I would a loved more
We mistook violence for passion, indolence for leisure, and thought recklessness was freedom.
In trying to make the slave experience intimate, I hoped the sense of things being both under control and out of control would be persuasive throughout; that the order and quietitude of every day life would be violently disrupted by the chaos of the needy dead; that the herculean effort to forget would be threatened by memory desperate to stay alive. To render enslavement as a personal experience, language must first get out of the way.
But to find out the truth about how dreams die, one should never take the word of the dreamer.
Sweet, crazy conversations full of half sentences, daydreams and misunderstandings more thrilling than understanding could ever be.
Only her tight, tight eyes were left. They were always left...They were everything. Everything was there, in them...Thrown, in this way, into the binding conviction that only a miracle could relieve her, she would never know her beauty. She would see only what there was to see: the eyes of other people.
More Toni Morrison Quotations (Based on Topics)
World - People - Time - Love - Education - Man - Mind - Sense & Perception - Beauty - Hatred - Friendship - Cities - Life - Power - Place - Children - Woman - Books - Happiness - View All Toni Morrison Quotations
More Toni Morrison Quotations (By Book Titles)
- Song of Solomon
- The Bluest Eye
Ernest Hemingway - Thomas Wolfe - Thomas Hardy - Robertson Davies - Robert Ludlum - Miguel de Cervantes - J. D. Salinger - Gabriel Garcia Marquez - Arthur Herzog - Alexander Solzehnitsyn