“It may seem strange, but the sound a spider makes when it falls into the flame of a candle is not so different from the sound your skin makes when it burns. A quiet, subtle sizzling. At first, I didn’t realize what it was, but then I saw its eight curly legs curling up. Its body burst. I don’t know why I’m saying this, but sometimes thoughts just come, sit down, and wait for you to notice them. What I thought, what I actually saw, was the face of my daughter, Lizzie.”
“But white people don’t want to know what black people think. White people believe three things about us: first, that our thoughts are insignificant; second, that our thoughts are simplistic; and third, that our brains are incapable of real thought. Therefore, speaking properly in their language is dangerous. I must speak with my ‘white’ voice only when I am among other slaves. In the company of whites, I must speak the language they expect to hear, a language that betrays no depth of thought.”
“For this reason, when I speak to Judge Thatcher or Widow Douglas, I say things like: ‘Yes, ma’am, certainly, ma’am.’ I don’t use words with more than two syllables. I don’t look anyone in the eye for too long. I bow my head, not too much, but just enough to show I am meek. As for Huck Finn, he’s just a boy, a poor boy, and so sometimes I forget myself and talk to him as if he were one of us.”
