“And an inky-colored despair of rejection enveloped me like the black tortilla of depression around a pain burrito.”

“The stars cut into the inky black sky, like glinting shards of glass.”

“Black is not sad. Bright colors are what depresses me. They’re so… empty. Black is poetic. How do you imagine a poet? In a bright yellow jacket? Probably not.”

“...they told me of color, that it was an illusion of the eye, an event in the perceiver's mind, not in the object; they told me that color had no reality; indeed, they told me that color did not inhere in a physical body any more than pain was in a needle.And then they imprisoned me in darkness; and though there was no color there, I still was black, and they still were white; and for that, they bound and gagged me.”

“Unlike most of the other crayons, Black has hardly been used. People probably avoid Black because it isn't considered a happy color [...] I, however, like Black. It is a color that makes me comfortable and the color with which I have the most experience [...] I like Black, goddamnit, and I am going to give it its due.”

“The feeling of emptiness enveloped me. It was so strange. One minute you're pregnant and the next you're not. I couldn't get my mind around it at first. The emotional pain was extremely intense.”