In praise of black women

...when, one day out hunting, he met his own story, our hero didn't recognize it. (book 2)

...what would become of his memory of the old photograph he had once seen on [her] veranda? Would it fade from his mind, or would it still go on floating inside him, a piece of flotsam worn ever smoother and more transparent, no more than a breath[...]? (book 4)

The Ancients had always said that the world below was an exact replica of the world above, except that it was wrapped in the mists of eternity. (Book 5)