Writing Is Not A Profession. It's A

Who You Are Is A Mystery No One Can Answer, Not Even You.

I Like To Be Depressing. I Feel It's My Duty To Make Everyone A Little Less Happy. You Know That Line In The Declaration Of Independence, "the Pursuit Of Happiness"? I've Come To Think That It Has No Meaning At All. You Cannot Pursue Happiness. And To Think That This Bad Little Sentence Has Determined Our Lives.

People Think If You Describe Someone With Glistening Brown Skin You're Writing About Race, As If The Whole Of The African Diaspora Is In Someone's Brown Skin.

It's Not That I'm A Very Good Person. It's That I Think I Should At Least Look At The Ways In Which I Am Not A Good Person, The Ways In Which I So Readily Become The Person Who Would Not Notice That The Wonderful Clothing I'm Wearing Someone Is Probably Dying For.

The Space Between The Idea Of Something And Its Reality Is Always Wide And Deep And Dark. The Longer They Are Kept Apart—idea Of Thing, Reality Of Thing—the Wider The Width, The Deeper The Depth, The Thicker And Darker The Darkness.