I have always let you know how much I care, right? You never had to wonder. I'm not a man for words. Daddy showed me that you 'do' for a woman. Remember that time when you damn near had a nervous breakdown because it looked like the hickory-nut tree in the front yard was thinking about dying? Where I'm from, we don't believe in spending money on pets, let alone trees. But I couldn't bear to see you fret, so I hired a tree doctor. See, in my mind, that was a love letter.

Ours was a love story, the kind that’s not supposed to happen to black girls anymore. This was vintage romance made scarce after Dr. King, along with Negro-owned dress shops, drugstores, and cafeterias.

Is it love, or is it convenience?... She explained that connivence, habit, comfort, obligation- these are all things that wear the same clothing as love sometimes.

Women’s work is never easy, never clean.

You also have to work with the love you are given, with all of the complications clanging behind it like tin cans to a bridal sedan.

Water always finds its own level.

Everything I do is a love letter addressed to you.

Don't make your daughter feel like she got to lay with who you want her to lay with, like you're some kind of pimp.

I know who I married, too. You're in me. When I touch you, your flesh communicates with my bones.