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I could endure the hunger. I had learned to live with hate.

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Endure Feeling Hate Hunger Hurt Learn Live

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Marilyn Monroe Paulo Coelho Abraham Lincoln C. S. Lewis Khalil Gibran Charlie Chaplin Gautama Buddha Isaac Newton

Somewhere in the dead of the southern night my life had switched onto the wrong track and without my knowing it.
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Reluctantly, he comes to the conclusion that to account for his book is to account for his life.
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At the age of twelve I had an attitude toward life that was to endure, that was to make me seek those areas of living that would keep it alive, that was to make me skeptical of everything while seeking everything, tolerant of all and yet critical.
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We had our own civilization in Africa before we were captured and carried off to this land.
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I could think of nothing. And, slowly, it was upon exactly that nothingness that my mind began to dwell, that constant sense of wanting without having, of being hated without reason.
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What could I dream of that had the barest possibility of coming true?
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If a man confessed anything on his death bed, it was the truth; for no man could stare death in the face and lie.
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I listened, vaguely knowing now that I had committed some awful wrong that I could not undo, that I had uttered words I could not recall even though I ached to nullify them.
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I was taking a part of the South to transplant in alien soil, to see if it could grow differently, if it could drink of new and cool rains, bend in strange winds, respond to the warmth of other suns and, perhaps, to bloom
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The more closely the author thinks of why he wrote, the more he comes to regard his imagination as a kind of self-generating cement which glued his facts together, and his emotions as a kind of dark and obscure designer of those facts.
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Author Book Closely Come Dark Emotion Fact Imagination Kind More Regard Think Writing Wrote
We black and they white. They got things and we ain’t. They do things and we can’t. It’s just like livin’ in jail.
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Love grows from stable relationships, shared experience, loyalty, devotion, trust.
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We invented a medium of exchange, mined silver and gold, made pottery and cutlery, we fashioned tools and utensils of brass, bronze, ivory, quartz, and granite.
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In me was shaping a yearning for a kind of consciousness.
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It had been only through books-at best, no more than vicarious cultural transfusions-that I had managaed to keep myself alive in a negatively vital way.
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Hunger has always been more or less at my elbow when I played, but now I began to wake up at night to find hunger standing at my bedside, staring at my gauntly.
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