...all the beasts from sloth to pigmy shrew, arrayed silently in ordered cavalcade as if waiting admission to the Ark.
M.T. AndersonThe hafts of the tools were stained black with th sweat of us all, our contributions, black and white alike.
M.T. AndersonThe times, the seasons, the signs may have been mythical; but the sufferings were not. I lay in the dark with the breathing of men around me and knew that then, at that selfsame moment, where dawn groped across the sea, my brethren lay bound in ships, one body atop another, smelling of their green wounds and faeces; I knew in dark houses, there was torture, arms held down, firebrands approaching the soft skin of the belly or arm; and still - there is screaming in the night; there is flight; mothers sob for children they shall not see again; girls feel the weight of men atop them; men cry for their wives; boys dangle dead in the barn; and we smoke their sorrow contentedly; and we eat their sorrow; and we wear their sorrow; and wonder how it came so cheap.
It was for this that we labored and fought, risking our very lives.
Hosiah Lister, now dead, rec'd his freedom.
M.T. AndersonThose accustomed to failure fear the novelty of success. Those taught the lessons of subordination are oft timid in the school of self-service.
M.T. AndersonI have this weird, bad feeling," said another boy. "In my feeling parts. Like something bad is going to happen.
M.T. AndersonTag: humor
With a hologram, like when your teacher is one of them, if you aren’t looking right at them, they sometimes seem to be hollow. You see them and suddenly they don’t have a face that pokes out. Their faces poke in, their nose and so on, and there is nothing inside them. If you don’t look right at them, they can look just like an empty shell.
M.T. AndersonTag: feed
The sky was as blue as a stupid postcard, and the islands were as green as islands.
M.T. Andersonit's like a squid in love with the sky.
M.T. AndersonTag: 62
We are the nation of dreams. We are seers. We are wizards. We speak in visions. Our letters are like flocks of doves, released from under our hats. We have only to stretch out our hand and desire, and what we wish for settles like a kerchief in our palm. We are a race of sorcerers, enchanters. We are Atlantis. We are the wizard-isle of Mu.
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