Chains Laurie Halse Anderson Quotes

I have survived. I am here. Confused, screwed up, but here. So, how can I find my way? Is there a chain saw of the soul, an ax I can take to my memories or fears?

A scar is a sign of strength. . .the sign of a survivor.

She cannot chain my soul. Yes, she could hurt me. She'd already done so...I would bleed, or not. Scar, or not. Live, or not. But she could not hurt my soul, not unless I gave it to her.

Didn't help to ponder things that were forever gone. It only made a body restless and fill up with bees, all wanting to sting something.

I wanted to pull down a book, open it proper, and gobble up page after page

Melancholy held me hostage, and the bees built a hive of sadness in my soul.

The best time to talk to ghosts is just before the sun comes up.

This is not our fight', the old man said. 'British or American, that is not the choice. You must choose your own side, find your road through the valley of darkness that will lead you to the river Jordan. . . Look hard for your river Jordan, my child. You'll find it.

It made me strong.I took a step back, near my whole self in the mirror.I pushed back my shoulders and raised my chin, my back straight as an arrow.

Gossip is the foul smell from the Devil's backside.

It was like looking at a knot, knowing it was a knot, but not knowing how to untie it. I had no map for this life.

If an entire nation could seek its freedom, why not a girl?

Momma said that ghosts couldn't move over water. That's why Africans got trapped in the Americas.. They kept moving us over the water, stealing us away from our ghosts and ancestors, who cried salty rivers into the sand. That's where Momma was now, wailing at the water's edge, while her girls were pulled out of sight under white sails that cracked in the wind.

She cannot chain my soul. Yes, she could hurt me. She'd already done so. But what was one more beating? A flogging, even? I would bleed, or not. Scar, or not. Live, or not. But she could no longer harm Ruth, and she could not hurt my soul, not unless I gave it to her. This was a new notion to me and a curious one.

The best time to talk to ghosts is just before the sun comes up. That's when they can hear us true.

The world turns upside down every day.

Flames curled out of all the windows next door. The rooftop beyond that was a lake of fire. Every building in sight was burning. The air was filled with crackling and popping sounds, with shrieks and screams coming from the street below.

too large,” the mayor said. “If it breaks free of its chains,

fortifications.

Has she received any letters from Lockton?' The question hit me like a bucket of cold water. 'You asking me to spy again?' 'Listen,' he started, 'Our freedom-' I did not let him continue. 'You are blind. They don't want us free. They just want liberty for themselves.

This is not our fight,' the old man said. 'British or American, that is not the choice. You must choose your own side, find your road through the valley of darkness that will lead you to the river Jordan.

It would have eased her mind if I thanked her for wanting to buy me away from Madam. I tried to be grateful but could not. A body does not like being bought and sold like a basket of eggs, even if the person who cracks the shells is kind.

I thought of all the ancestors waiting at the water's edge for their stolen children to come home. Waiting and waiting and waiting . . .

How could men who liked cats be bad?

over them,

Everybody carried a little evil in them, Momma once told me. Madam Lockton had more than her share. The poison had eaten holes through her soul and made room for vermin to nest inside her.

We had eight inches of snow last night. In any other part of the country, that would mean a snow day. Not in Syracuse. We never get snow days. It snows an inch in South Carolina, everything shuts down and they get on the six o’clock news. In our district, they plow early and often and put chains on the bus tires.

I think about lying down. No, that would not do. I crouch by the trunk, my finger stroking the bark, seeking a Braille code, a clue, a message on how to come back to life after my long undersnow dormancy. I have survived. I am here. Confused, screwed up, but here. So, how can I find my way? Is there a chain saw of the soul, an ax I can take to my memories or fears? I dig my fingers into the dirt and squeeze. A small, clean part of me waits to warm and burst through the surface. Some quiet Melindagirl I haven't seen in months. This is the seed I will care for.

I laid down one long road of a sentence in my remembery: “For all men being originally equals, no one by birth could have a right to set up his own family in perpetual preference to all others for ever.” Way I saw it, Mr. Paine was saying all people were the same, that no one deserved a crown or was born to be higher than another. That’s why America could make its own freedom.

I think about lying down. No, that would not do. I crouch by the trunk, my fingers stroking the bark, seeking a Braille code, a clue, a message on how to come back to life after my long undersnow dormancy. I have survived. I am here. Confused, screwed up, but here. So, how can I find my way? Is there a chain saw of the soul, an ax I can take to my memories or fears? I dig my fingers into the dirt and squeeze. A small, clean part of me waits to warm and burst through the surface. Some quiet Melindagirl I haven’t seen in months. That is the seed I will care for.

In the northern colonies, European Americans tended to own one or two slaves who worked on the family farm or were hired out. Rhode Island and Connecticut had a few large farms, where twenty or thirty slaves would live and work. Plantation-based slavery was more common in the South, where hundreds of slaves could be owned by the same person and forced to work in tobacco, indigo, or rice fields. In most cities, slaveholdings were small, usually one or two slaves who slept in the attic or cellar of the slave owner’s home. Abigail Smith Adams, a Congregational minister’s daughter, grew up outside Boston in a household that owned two slaves, Tom and Pheby. As an adult, she denounced slavery, as did her husband, John Adams, the second President of the United States. Historians recently discovered the remains of slaves found in the African Burial Ground near today’s City Hall in New York City. By studying the skeletons, scientists discovered that the slaves of New York suffered from poor nutrition, disease, and years of backbreaking labor. Most of them died young.

Momma said we had to fight the evil inside us by overcoming it with goodness. She said it was a hard thing to do, but it made us worthy.

Now I knew. I would fight the eagle and the chains and that mountain as long as I had breath.

My momma and poppa appeared from the shadows. They flew to me and wrapped their arms around me and cooled my face with their ghost tears.

The rooftop beyond that was a lake of fire.

stopped what they were doing and ran out of doors to stare. The news spread from the prison as fast

There are three “real” people in the book. The mayor of New York, David Matthews, actually did participate in the conspiracy to assassinate Washington. Thomas Hickey was a member of Washington’s Life Guards, and was hung for his part in the assassination plot. And Dr. Abraham van Buskirk, the Loyalist sympathizer who sheltered Mr. Lockwood, truly was a doctor in New Jersey.

I shook from the effort of holding myself still, clutching the crumpled paper. Momma said we had to fight the evil inside us by overcoming it with goodness. She said it was a hard thing to do, but it made us worthy. I breathed deep to steady myself.

The tension between Patriot and Loyalist New Yorkers, the Tea Water Pump, the taking of lead from houses, the pulling down of King George’s statue, the chaos surrounding the British invasion of the city, the fire, prisoners of war, the Queen’s Birthday Ball: all of these are historical facts. I wove the fictional characters of Isabel and Curzon into the history to give readers a sense of what life might have been like in those days.

To us today, it seems completely hypocritical to fight a war for “liberty and freedom” when 20 percent of your population is in chains. People back then saw the hypocrisy too. It made some of them uncomfortable, but not uncomfortable enough to change the law, not right away. Vermont abolished slavery on July 8, 1777, when it adopted its state constitution. After the Revolution, the other states in the North gradually required slave owners to free their slaves.

In 1807 Parliament banned British involvement in the Atlantic slave trade. (From 1690 to 1807 British ships carried nearly three million kidnapped Africans across the Atlantic Ocean.) Slavery was completely banned throughout the British Empire in 1833.

In most cities, slaveholdings were small, usually one or two slaves who slept in the attic or cellar of the slave owner’s home. Abigail Smith Adams, a Congregational minister’s daughter, grew up outside Boston in a household that owned two slaves, Tom and Pheby. As an adult, she denounced slavery, as did her husband, John Adams, the second President of the United States. Historians recently discovered the remains of slaves found in the African Burial Ground near today’s City Hall in New York City. By studying the skeletons, scientists discovered that the slaves of New York suffered from poor nutrition, disease, and years of backbreaking labor. Most of them died young.

Slaves were people of African descent who were not paid for their work and had to do everything demanded by the person who owned them. They had no rights and little protection from cruel treatment and inhumane living conditions. Slaves were not allowed to marry and children were frequently sold away from their parents.

Absolutely. The earliest slaves were brought to New Amsterdam (later called New York) by the Dutch in the 1620s. When the British took over New York in 1664, about 10 percent of the population was of African descent. The number of slaves skyrocketed as the British kidnapped thousands of African men, women, and children and brought them to the city. By 1737, 20 percent of the city’s population was enslaved—more than 1,700 people. By the middle of the century, New York had the second highest percentage of slaves in the colonies after Charleston, South Carolina. Historian Shane White analyzed census data, tax records, and directories and found that every street in New York had slave owners on it, and most people lived a few doors down from slaves, if they didn’t own one themselves. Historians estimate that about 5,000 African Americans, nearly 22 percent of the population, lived in and around New York in 1771. Very few of them were free. By the end of the American Revolution, thousands had fled to the British or run away, but thousands more continued to live in bondage.

In 1799 New York passed the Gradual Emancipation Act, which set out the very slow timetable for freeing the children of slaves, after they had given nearly thirty years of servitude to the people who owned them. The law was changed in 1817, freeing the rest of the slaves of New York on July 4, 1827. On July 5, 1827, thousands of free African Americans marched down Broadway, following an honor guard and a grand marshal. In front of the African Zion Church, they listened as abolitionist leader William Hamilton announced, “This day we stand redeemed from a bitter thralldom.” The African Americans of New York were finally free after two hundred years of bondage.

The conditions suffered by the American soldiers captured by the British in and around New York were almost too horrible to describe. They were stuffed into jails, churches, warehouses, and decrepit ships in the harbor and left to rot. Their cells had no heat. They used a corner or a bucket for their toilet and were never allowed to bathe. They did not have blankets, warm clothes, or medical care. They had to drink dirty water. Their meals were raw pork, moldy biscuits infested with maggots, peas, and rice. About half of the two thousand Americans captured at Fort Washington died from disease and starvation within weeks. If the British had not allowed the citizens of New York to bring blankets and food to the prisoners, the death toll would have been higher. Captured officers, however, were treated differently. They were allowed to stay in boardinghouses, to work, and to walk around the city as long as they did not try to escape. The British felt that officers were gentlemen and deserved to be treated according to their higher social class. More than 10,000 American prisoners of war died in British captivity.

She could walk the mile from Wall Street to the north edge of the city. But then she’d run into the guards stationed there. She’d have to sneak past them and not get shot. Then she’d have eleven miles of running to the north edge of the island. If she took the Greenwich Road or the Post Road, she’d likely be captured by one in need of a slave or in need of the reward paid for a healthy runaway. If she stuck to the woods that ran up the center of the island, she could be et by a bear or drowned in a swamp. If angels guided her safe through the woods and she made the north edge, she’d have to get past the guards watching over King’s Bridge, where New York Island touched the rest of America. I rolled over, my back to the fire. That girl could more likely grab hold of the feet of a passing crow and bid him fly her to safety. Better yet, sprout her own wings. The only path left was across the water. A girl like that could not swim and did not own a boat, not to mention the river currents were fast and the crossing would be noted by someone who would raise a ruckus and then the soldiers would line up like a firing squad and shoot that girl dead in the water. They wouldn’t even bury her proper, just let the water take the boat and the body and both would be consumed by sea monsters.