“Tell him I hate him to his guts and the marrow of his bones!”

“I don't know what his problem is," I said as Michael and I left the school. "Why would he tell me to be careful if he hates my guts?" "Because he doesn't hate your guts. I think he likes you." Michael was walking so fast I had to jog to keep up with him. "Isn't it obvious?”

“i press my hands against his chest, wishing i could somehow be even closer to him. i hate skin; i hate bones and bodies. i want to curl up inside of him and be carried there forever.”

“Somewhere in his body--perhaps in the marrow of his bones--he would continue to feel her absence.”

“I can't tell you how much I hated him. Not the soap but his sermons and him acting like he was out for the good of everyone....-Mississippi Trial 1955”

“Tell him that I loved the little boy in him, and that I loved the man in him. Tell him I loved his sad side, and his laughing side.”