Quotes from Bernice L. McFadden

I write to breathe life back into memory.

Listen, if you choose to believe nothing else that transpires here, believe this: your body does not have a soul; your soul has a body, and souls never, ever die.

Anger eats up years faster than happiness, chile.

She had looked in the mirror a million times and only saw the brown of her skin and not the magic flowing beneath it.

The men know that black women are women at the very least; magical at their zenith and biblical at the core, being with a black woman was as sacred as dousing oneself in holy water. That

Women were always ready to give themselves over for love, when all the men really had to offer them was the word and not the meaning behind it.

We forget about the people we love sometimes.

In 1922 everything changed again. The Eskimo pie was invented; James Joyce's Ulysses was printed in Paris; snow fell on Mauna Loa, Hawaii; Babe Ruth signed a three-year contract with the New York Yankees; Eugene O'Neill was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Drama; Frederick Douglass's home was dedicated as a national shrine; former heavyweight champion of the world Jack Johnson invented the wrench...

Anger eats up years faster than happiness, chile. You better get on with your living and forget 'bout that hurt.

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

Scars are proof of survival, they shouldn't be hidden—it's a story someone may need to see in order to believe that beyond their pain and suffering, there is healing.

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.

Writing kept her sane. Kept her form spinning out of control. Kept her tongue still whenever some white person spoke down to her. She had to write, it was the only thing that was completely hers, that she could look forward to at the end of her long day.

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

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.

Prison had a way of draining people of their hope and humanity. But Harlan didn't have to worry about that because he'd gone in empty.

No one person should be forced to keep everything to themselves. Not everything. The mind is small, the heart, weak.

Almost eight years, and Edison had only slipped and called her a nigger once. She'd been in no hurry to forgive him for it, but he'd apologized profusely—and had cried and played Billie Holiday's "Strange Fruit" over and over again on his piano before she let him back into their bedroom.

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.

To Harlan, New York City was as chaotic and thrilling as the three-ringed circus that came through Macon each spring. No matter which direction his head spun, there was something new and exciting to behold: white men with long beards and black hats as tall as chimney stacks; poor people begging for money; rich people walking white poodles tethered to long leather leads; blind people tapping walking sticks; fat people munching soft, salted pretzels; and middle-of-the-road people like themselves.

You can't expect a child not to become a product of his environment. If you're a drinker, you'll raise a drunk. If you're a single mother, traipsing men in and out of your bedroom in front of your girl child - mark my words, in time she'll claim a corner and charge money for what you gave away for free. Kings and queens raise princes and princesses. That's just the way it is.

I write to breath life back into memory to remind African-Americans of our rich and textured history. I also see myself as a "root," and for me the "fierce winds" include the marginalization-the downright segregation-of literature written by people of color.

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.

we ace boon coons forever.