“There is no color line in death.”

“Black is the color of night. White is the true color of death”

“The problem of the twentieth century is the problem of the color line.”

“When the war comes, you’ll find me on the front line, with some crayons, coloring outside the lines.”

“Tell me the truth. When you were a kid, did you always color inside the lines?”"Coloring in the lines is the whole point. That’s why they have lines,” I said.“That’s where you’re wrong. The lines are there just to hold you in. Like a prison. Think what you might have created if there hadn’t been any lines.”

“The girl's face was the color of talcum. Her uncle's was a death mask, a bone structure overlaid by parchment. Shane's was granite, with a glistening line of sweat just below his hair line. He'd never forget this night, the detective knew, no matter what else happened for the rest of his life. They were all getting scars on their souls, the sort of scars people got in the Dark Ages, when they believed in devils and black magic. ("Speak To Me Of Death")”