The threads of malice creeping toward him from Beloved's side of the table were held harmless in the warmth of Sethe's smile.

The fire seemed to live$$$ go down$$$ or die according to its own schemata. In the morning$$$ however$$$ it always saw fit to die.

Everything bad that ever happened to him happened because he couldn't read.

At least she's willing to figure it out$$$ do something$$$ risk something and take its measure. I risk nothing. I sit on a throne and identify signs of imperfection in others.

Down came the dry flakes$$$ fat enough and heavy enough to crash like nickels on stone. It always surprised him$$$ how quiet it was. Not like rain$$$ but like a secret.

Bit by bit$$$ at 124 and in the Clearing$$$ along with others$$$ she had claimed herself. Freeing yourself was one thing; claiming ownership of that freed self was another.

We are traditionally rather proud of ourselves for having slipped creative work in there between the domestic chores and obligations. I'm not sure we deserve such big A-pluses for all that.

And even later$$$ when for the first time in her life she had lain in bed with a man and said his name involuntarily or said it truly meaning him$$$ the name she was screaming and saying was not his at all.

It had occurred to Pecola some time ago that if her eyes$$$ those eyes that held the pictures$$$ and knew the sights$$$ if those eyes of hers were different$$$ that is to say$$$ beautiful$$$ she herself would be different.

Nobody loved her and she wouldn't have liked it if they had$$$ she considered love a serious disability.