I've Never Let The Criticism Deter Me.

But Some Natives--most Natives In The World--cannot Go Anywhere. They Are Too Poor. They Are Too Poor To Go Anywhere. They Are Too Poor To Escape The Reality Of Their Lives; And They Are Too Poor To Live Properly In The Place Where They Live, Which Is The Very Place You, The Tourist, Want To Go--so When The Natives See You, The Tourist, They Envy You, They Envy Your Ability To Leave Your Own Banality And Boredom, They Enjoy Your Ability To Turn Their Own Banality And Boredom Into A Source Of Pleasure For Yourself.

Race As A Subject Only Comes About Because Of What I Look Like. If I Say Something Truthfully, People Say "oh, She's So Angry." If I Write About A Married Person Who Lives In Vermont, It Becomes "oh, She's Autobiographical."

One Of The Things Reading Does, It Makes Your Loneliness Manageable If You Are An Essentially Lonely Person.

Out Of The Corner Of One Eye, I Could See My Mother. Out Of The Corner Of The Other Eye, I Could See Her Shadow On The Wall, Cast There By The Lamplight. It Was A Big And Solid Shadow, And It Looked So Much Like My Mother That I Became Frightened. For I Could Not Be Sure Whether For The Rest Of My Life I Would Be Able To Tell When It Was Really My Mother And When It Was Really Her Shadow Standing Between Me And The Rest Of The World.

I Was Then At The Height Of My Two-facedness: That Is, Outside I Seemed One Way, Inside I Was Another; Outside False, Inside True.