I'm accountable - this sounds emo - to black American writing, Southern writing, Southern black American writing, American writing and my people. That's kind of what keeps me accountable.

I'm not good enough as a person and definitely not good enough as a writer.

I'm also, than anything else, a teacher and a student. And without the four hours, I'm pretty monsterish. For real.

Black is not a vice. Nor is segregation a virtue.

I'm an obsessive writer who needs and loves revision. Writing helps me learn and helps me teach.

I'm a black writer from Mississippi. That's what I most consider myself.

I'm interested in how the confessional is so abrasively critiqued today. I'm not really comfortable with simply confessing but I do think "confessing" is a major part of reckoning.

Long Division has a lot of Afrosurrealist impulses. I think the book was more Afrofuturist when it was like 700 pages.

We are real black characters with real character, not the stars of American racist spectacle. Blackness is not probable cause.

Obama will win. We will win. Then we will continue to lose. And the right questions will never be honestly asked or answered, and it's all just too much.

Your letter reminds me that any love that necessitates deception is not love. It doesn't matter if that supposed love is institutional or personal.

There should be a measure for happiness or sadness, like the width of your smile, the twinkle in your eyes, the depth of your laughter or the salt of your tears.

The church should not be pampered but rather prepare for, and expect, persecution—for it is Christ’s body on earth.

I don’t know if you picked up on the elephant in the room… but we’re witches. Angela, Andrea, me, and Evelyn and Celia back home.”--Aunt Maddy from The Ragtime Coven

Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.

That which is easy is bad for your inner life.

It's motive alone which gives character to the actions of men.

Irritable Judges suffer from a bad case of premature adjudication.

A clear stream, a long horizon, a forest wilderness and open sky - these are man's most ancient possessions. In a modern society, they are his most priceless.

For about 150 days a year in Venice, the sun doesn't show through the mist until noon.