Sula

Easily, quietly, Suicide Day became a part of the fabric of life up in the Bottom of Medallion, Ohio.

someone was bounding up the stairs after her. Hannah opened the door. “Plum!

They insisted that all unions between white men and black women be rape; for a black woman to be willing was literally unthinkable. In that way,

“I’m me,” she whispered. “Me.” Nel didn’t know quite what she meant, but on the other hand she knew exactly what she meant. “I’m me. I’m not their daughter. I’m not Nel. I’m me. Me.”

“Well, don’t let your mouth start nothing that your ass can’t stand. When you gone to get married? You need to have some babies. It’ll settle you.” “I don’t want to make somebody else. I want to make myself.”

Once the people understood the boundaries and nature of his madness, they could fit him, so to speak, into the scheme of things.

the custard pudding she believed lurked under her mother’s heavy dress,

“Me,” she murmured. And then, sinking deeper into the quilts, “I want…I want to be…wonderful. Oh, Jesus, make me wonderful.”

She thought also of returning to some of her people in Virginia, but to come home dragging three young ones would have to be a step one rung before death for Eva.