Popular Toni Morrison Quotes

Nobody saw them falling.

Clever, but schoolteacher beat him anyway to show him that definitions belonged to the definers-not the defined.

Just like the day she arrived at 124-sure enough, she had milk enough for all.

I am Beloved and she is mine.

The last of her children, whom she barely glanced at when he was born because it wasn’t worth the trouble to try to learn features you would never see change into adulthood anyway.

Love is or it ain’t. Thin love ain’t love at all.

all he knew in the world about the world was what other people had told him. He felt like a garbage pail for the actions and hatreds of other people . . . he had never acted independently.

He meant that if you take a life, then you own it. . . You can’t get rid of nobody by killing them. They still there, and they yours now.

It’s about trying to make a world where one-day white people will think before they lynch.’

You stupid, man. Real stupid. Ain’t no law for no coloured man except the one sends him to the chair.

Sugarman done fly away Sugarman done gone Sugarman cut across the sky Sugarman gone home.

Pilate can’t teach you a thing you can use in this world. Maybe the next one, but not this one. Let me tell you right now the one important thing you’ll ever need to know: Own things.

Love is divine only and difficult always. If you think it is easy you are a fool. If you think it is natural you are blind. It is a learned application without reason or motive except that it is God.

The function of freedom is to free someone else.

Don’t ever think I fell for you, or fell over you. I didn’t fall in love, I rose in it.

But maybe a man was nothing but a man, which is what Baby Suggs always said. They encouraged you to put some of your weight in their hands and soon as you felt how light and lovely that was, they studied your scars and tribulations, after which they did what he had done: ran her children out and tore up the house. […] A man ain’t nothing but a man,’ said Baby Suggs. ‘But a son? Well now, that’s somebody.

It had occurred to Pocola 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.

Her simplicity decorated us, her guilt sanctified us, her pain made us glow with health.

The line between coloured and nigger was not always clear; subtle and tell-tale signs threatened to erode it, and the watch had to be constant.