Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night$$$ and when you move$$$ fall like a thunderbolt.

Those strange creepy people$$$ all picking at their little... scabs$$$ she had complained to me when Nathan was not around. "I hate this type of---and here I thought she used a lovely gem of a phrase---unearned unhappiness!"

That I chose Independence Day as the moment to strike was of course a piece of deliberate irony.

AN EXQUISITELY SHARPENED HATRED FOR the white man is of course an emotion not difficult for Negroes to harbor. Yet if truth be known$$$ this hatred does not abound in every Negro's soul; it relies upon too many mysterious and hidden patterns of life and chance to flourish luxuriantly everywhere. Real hatred of the sort of which I speak$$$ hatred so pure and obdurate that no sympathy$$$ no human warmth$$$ no flicker of compassion can make the faintest nick or scratch upon the stony surface of its being$$$ is not common to all Negroes.

Let your love flow out on all living things.

It is a positive and active anguish$$$ a sort of psychical neuralgia wholly unknown to normal life.

Edward was at the stage of drunkenness in which the ego glows like a coal$$$ and brilliant people become more inspired$$$ but in which dull people$$$ fired by the same inspiration$$$ become only more dull.

My brain had begun to endure its familiar siege: panic and dislocation$$$ and a sense that my thought processes were being engulfed by a toxic and unnameable tide that obliterated any enjoyable response to the living world.

It is true$$$ even people with painful childhoods. . . grow up to be more interesting people. So$$$ there's always a positive to a negative.

The bad end unhappily; the good$$$ unluckily. That is what tragedy means.