“To avoid being mistaken for a sellout, I chose my friends carefully. The more politically active black students. The foreign students. The Chicanos. The Marxist professors and structural feminists and punk-rock performance poets. We smoked cigarettes and wore leather jackets. At night, in the dorms, we discussed neocolonialism, Franz Fanon, Eurocentrism, and patriarchy. When we ground out our cigarettes in the hallway carpet or set our stereos so loud that the walls began to shake, we were resisting bourgeois society’s stifling constraints. We weren’t indifferent or careless or insecure. We were alienated. But”
“I love the story of the salesman who sat looking through the window of a hotel restaurant. Outside raged a blinding snowstorm. “Do you think the roads will be clear enough in the morning to travel?” he asked his waiter. “That depends,” the waiter replied. “Are you on salary or commission?”
“Consistency, constancy, and undeviating diligence to maintain Christian character are a must if the older generation is to command respect, or even a hearing, from the young.”
“Strength in the wrong place is weakness. That’s true of anyone’s gift. If you’re not using your greatest asset in the right way, it’s a weakness. Your greatest strength might be your undoing”
“Jessica, hearing the voices, felt the depth of the experience, realized what terrible inhibitions there must be against shedding tears. She focused on the words: “He gives moisture to the dead.” It was a gift to the shadow world—tears. They would be sacred beyond a doubt.”
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