"Passing" Quotes

It was a funny thing, how few people ever really cared. They walked on, regardless of the small tragedies, the little miseries which, in time, came to be part of the pattern of his life.

But for the most part, people are not curious, and they don’t think. They are not interested in the whys and wherefores of things.

In a way, she was sorry for her. But in another way, she was not; for, after all, she was one of those people who do not want happiness.

I love you. I love you. But I hate you. I sometimes wish you were dead.

Somebody would get hurt, somebody always did, but she never seemed to care.

And she was glad that she had not given away to the longing which she sometimes felt to hold her daughter in her arms, to foster her child, to forget the whole miserable business.

She was glad to be like her white friends, to look like them.

She could have wept with self-pity, for she had never been so lonely or so miserable in her life.

But she was not even sorry for herself. She was only weary, weary to death of it all.

After that, her life had moved in a sort of torpor, from which she was roused only by the necessity of making enough money to live on.