The Only Reason Race Matters Is Because

You Americans, Always Peering Under People's Beds To Look For Communism.

That Her Relationship With Him Was Like Being Content In A House But Always Sitting By The Window And Looking Out

Why Did People Ask "what Is It About?" As If A Novel Had To Be About Only One Thing.

Dear Non-american Black, When You Make The Choice To Come To America, You Become Black. Stop Arguing. Stop Saying I'm Jamaican Or I'm Ghanaian. America Doesn't Care.

She Rested Her Head Against His And Felt, For The First Time, What She Would Often Feel With Him: A Self-affection. He Made Her Like Herself. With Him, She Was At Ease; Her Skin Felt As Though It Was Her Right Size.. It Seemed So Natural, To Talk To Him About Odd Things. She Had Never Done That Before. The Trust, So Sudden And Yet So Complete, And The Intimacy, Frightened Her.. But Now She Could Think Only Of All The Things She Yet Wanted To Tell Him, Wanted To Do With Him.