James Percival Everett Quotes

Belief has nothing to do with truth.

If you're not making mistakes, you're not learning.

At that moment the power of reading made itself clear and real to me. If I could see the words, then no one could control them or what I got from them. They couldn’t even know if I was merely seeing them or reading them, sounding them out or comprehending them. It was a completely private affair and completely free and, therefore, completely subversive.

I hated the world that wouldn’t let me apply justice without the certain retaliation of injustice.

Which would frighten you more? A slave who is crazy or a slave who is sane and sees you clearly?

I had never seen a white man filled with such fear. The remarkable truth, however, was that it was not the pistol, but my language, the fact that I didn’t conform to his expectations, that I could read, that had so disturbed and frightened him.

With my pencil, I wrote myself into being.

Dey takes the lies dey want and throws away the truths dat scares ’em.

- You know, dull tools are much more dangerous than sharp ones. - I paused to admire his metaphor, but he continued.

But my interest is in how these marks that I am scratching on this page can mean anything at all. If they can have meaning, then life can have meaning, then I can have meaning.

I did not look away. I wanted to feel the anger. I was befriending my anger, learning not only how to feel it, but perhaps how to use it.

There is no God, child. There’s religion but there’s no God of theirs. Their religion tells that we will get our reward in the end. However, it apparently doesn’t say anything about their punishment. But when we’re around them, we believe in God. Oh, Lawdy Lawd, we’s be believin’. Religion is just a controlling tool they employ and adhere to when convenient.

We're slaves. We're not anywhere. Free person, he can be where he wants to be. The only place we can ever be is in slavery.

It’s a horrible world. White people try to tell us that everything will be just fine when we go to heaven. My question is, Will they be there? If so, I might make other arrangements.

To fight in a war,' he said. 'Can you imagine?' 'Would that mean facing death every day and doing what other people tell you to do?' I asked. 'I reckon.' 'Yes, Huck. I can imagine.

Religion is just a controlling tool they employ and adhere to when convenient.

I can tell you that I am a man who is cognizant of his world, a man who has a family, who loves a family, who has been torn from his family, a man who can read and write, a man who will not let his story be self-related, but self-written.

I chose the word enemy, and still do, as oppressor necessarily supposes a victim.

White people often spent time admiring their survival of one thing or another. I imagined it was because so often they had no need to survive, but only to live.

I saw the surface of her, merely the outer shell, and realized that she was mere surface all the way to her core.

How strange a world, how strange an existence, that one’s equal must argue for one’s equality, that one’s equal must hold a station that allows airing of that argument, that one cannot make that argument for oneself, that premises of said argument must be vetted by those equals who do not agree.

The children said together, “And the better they feel, the safer we are.” “February, translate that.” “Da mo’ betta dey feels, da mo’ safer we be.” “Nice.

I considered the northern white stance against slavery. How much of the desire to end the institution was fueled by a need to quell and subdue white guilt and pain? Was it just too much to watch? Did it offend Christian sensibilities to live in a society that allowed that practice? I knew that whatever the cause of their war, freeing slaves was an incidental premise and would be an incidental result.

Way I sees it is dis. If’n ya gots to hab a rule to tells ya wha’s good, if’n ya gots to hab good ’splained to ya, den ya cain’t be good. If’n ya need sum kinda God to tells ya right from wrong, den you won’t never know.

I felt tired of the failures of men. They were always failing in the most basic ways, like looking down or away at the moment when they should be gutsy enough to meet your eye.

I am a sign. I am your future. I am James.

What you’re saying is that if someone pays you enough, it’s okay to abandon what you have claimed to understand as moral and right.

He could have gone through life without the knowledge I had given him and he would have been no worse off for it. But I understood at that moment that I had shared the truth with him for myself. I needed for him to have a choice.

Folks be funny lak dat. Dey takes the lies dey want and throws away the truths dat scares ’em.

As a matter of fact, just recently I passed for white so I could pass for black.

But in this notebook I would reconstruct the story I had begun, the story I kept beginning, until I had a story.

I had never read a novel, though I understood the concept of fiction. It wasn't so unlike religion, or history, for that matter.

I suspected at that moment that I would not die, but it was unclear whether I would be pleased about that fact.

I am the angel of death, come to offer sweet justice in the night. I am a sign I am your future. I am James.

Yes, but them people liked it, Jim. Did you see their faces? They had to know them was lies, but they wanted to believe. What do you make of that?” “Folks be funny lak dat. Dey takes the lies dey want and throws away the truths dat scares ’em.

I ain't never seen two fellas talk so much and say so little," Huck said. "You be almos' thinkin' dey be preachers," I said. "You know what I could go fer, Bilgewater?" "What's that, Dolphin?

Was it evil to kill evil? The truth was that I didn't care. It was this apathy that left me wondering about myself - not wondering why I didn't feel anything or whether I was incapable of feeling, but wondering what else I was capable of doing. It was not an altogether bad feeling.

I had already come to understand the tidiness of lies, the lesson learned from the stories told by white people seeking to justify my circumstance. I appreciated Voltaire’s notion of tolerance regarding religious difference and I understood, as absorbed as I was, that I was not interested in the content of the work, but its structure, the movement of it, the calling out of logical fallacies. And so, after these books, the Bible itself was the least interesting of all. I could not enter it, did not want to enter it, and then understood that I recognized it as a tool of my enemy. I chose the word enemy, and still do, as oppressor necessarily supposes a victim.

It could have been my turn to experience a bit of guilt, having toyed with the boy's feelings, and he being too young to actually understand the problem with his behavior, but I chose not to. When you are a slave, you claim choice where you can.

could believe it, I thought, pretending, in slave fashion, not to be there. After being cruel, the most notable white attribute was gullibility.

Tell them I’m called February, but that I was born in June. They like thinking that we’re stupid like that.

had already come to understand the tidiness of lies, the lesson learned from the stories told by white people seeking to justify my circumstance.

hear him shouting, “But I paid two hundred dollars for you.” A man who refused to own slaves but was not opposed to others owning slaves was still a slaver, to my thinking.

To fight in a war,” he said. “Can you imagine?” “Would that mean facing death every day and doing what other people tell you to do?” I asked. “I reckon.” “Yes, Huck, I can imagine.

Huck nodded. “You know where we goin’?” the boy asked. “Ain’t got no idee. But we’s on our way.” —

What did I do? I'm a slave, Norman. I inhaled when I should have exhaled. What did I do?

With my pencil, I wrote myself into being. I wrote myself to here.

Why did God set it up like this?” Rachel asked. “With them as masters and us as slaves?” “There is no God, child. There’s religion but there’s no God of theirs. Their religion tells that we will get our reward in the end. However, it apparently doesn’t say anything about their punishment. But when we’re around them, we believe in God. Oh, Lawdy Lawd, we’s be believin’. Religion is just a controlling tool they employ and adhere to when convenient.” “There must be something,” Virgil said. “I’m sorry, Virgil. You might be right. There might be some higher power, children, but it’s not their white God. However, the more you talk about God and Jesus and heaven and hell, the better they feel.” The children said together, “And the better they feel, the safer we are.

It’s a horrible world. White people try to tell us that everything will be just fine when we go to heaven. My question is, Will they be there? If so, I might make other arrangements.” Easter laughed.

Hannibal. I’m looking for the Graham farm.” “The breeder?” he asked. “What do you mean?” “Graham’s a breeder. He breeds slaves and sells them.” “My wife and daughter were taken there.” The man was silent.

At that moment the power of reading made itself clear and real to me. If I could see the words, then no one could control them or what I got from them. They couldn’t even know if I was merely seeing them or reading them,

Papa, why do we have to learn this?” “White folks expect us to sound a certain way and it can only help if we don’t disappoint them,” I said. “The only ones who suffer when they are made to feel inferior is us. Perhaps I should say ‘when they don’t feel superior.

There was a mama raccoon that lived in the tree. She had taken to walking past me nonchalantly in the darkness. Tonight she stayed in the tree, high above me, listening to the dogs. We were both animals and we didn’t know which of us was the prey. We accepted that we both were.

Is she dead?” Norman asked. I rolled her onto her stomach to try to force the water out of her. I pushed on her chest and her shirt came up to reveal a hole. “Is that…” Norman stopped. I touched the blackened indentation. “She’s been shot,” I said. “Good Lord,” Norman said. “She’s dead.” “We should have left her where she was,” Norman said. “At least she’d be a live slave. Not just another dead runaway.” I studied the lifeless body on the ground before me. “She was dead when I found her,” I said. “She’s just now died again, but this time she died free.

I read and read, but what I needed was to write. I needed that pencil. I could not keep track of my thoughts. I could not follow my own reasoning after a while. This was perhaps because I couldn't stop reading long enough to make space in my head. I was like a man who had not eaten for a season and had then gorged himself until sick. And my books, once read, were not what I wanted, not what I needed. (...) With my pencil, I wrote myself into being. I wrote myself to here.

I wrote to extend my thought, I wrote to catch up with my own story, wondering all the while if that was even possible.

Safe movement through the world depended on mastery of language, fluency.

I thought about tearing out his songs and burning them, but they would still exist. Those crackers would still sing them. Better to know they exist. Don't you think?

There was nothing scarier than human sounds.

Tell the story with your ears. Listen.

It was clear that the people we had escaped on the beach were not following us; they were too concerned with being survivors.

Never address any subject directly when talking to another slave,” she said. “What do we call that?” I asked. Together they said, “Signifying.” “Excellent.

When does the war end?” I asked. “Does it end? That’s the question. Who gets to say that it’s over? A war continues until the victor says it’s over.

dull tools are much more dangerous than sharp ones.

I had to ask myself and answer honestly, How much do I want to be free? And I couldn’t lose sight of my goal of freeing my family. What would freedom be without them?

That is what equality is, Jim. It's the capacity for becoming equal.

He’s going to get drunk now, not so much because he can, but because we can’t,” I said.

It seem sumtimes you jest gotta put up wif your friends. Dey gonna do what dey gonna do.

But I will not let this condition define me. I will not let myself, my mind, drown in fear and outrage. I will be outraged as a matter of course.

If enough of them kill you, they’re innocent.

if enough people do it, it’s not a crime.

There were those slaves who claimed a distinction between good masters and cruel masters. Most of us considered such to be distinction without difference.

The worst part was that the judge told the grand jury that it was an act of a multitude and so they couldn’t recommend any indictments. So, if enough people do it, it’s not a crime.

Ain’t people a part of nature?” “If’n dey is, den dey ain’t no good part. Da rest o’ nature don’ hardly talk to no human peoples anymo. Maybe it try from time to time, but peoples don’ listen.

She looked at Norman. “Are you really a slave?” she asked. “I am.” “And you’re colored,” she said. Norman nodded. “Who can tell?” “Nobody,” Norman said. “Then why do you stay colored?” “Because of my mother. Because of my wife. Because I don’t want to be white. I don’t want to be one of them.” Sammy looked at me. “That’s a pretty good answer.” “I thought so,” I said.

ten white men in blackface, one black man passing for white and painted black, and me, a light-brown black man painted black in such a way as to appear like a white man trying to pass for black.

I was as much scared as angry, but where does a slave put anger? We could be angry with one another; we were human. But the real source of our rage had to go without address, swallowed, repressed.

We were both animals and we didn’t know which of us was the prey. We accepted that we both were. I considered running, leaving my raccoon friend, but in which direction does one run from lightning?

If'n ya gots to hab a rule to tells ya wha's good, if'n ya gots to hab good 'splained to ya, den ya cain't be good. If'n ya need sum kinda God to tells ya right from wrong, den you won't never know.

gun at me. I pointed my pistol at him. “I am the angel of death, come to offer sweet justice in the night,” I said. “I am a sign. I am your future. I am James.” I pulled back the hammer on my pistol.

Let’s try some situational translations. Something extreme first. You’re walking down the street and you see that Mrs. Holiday’s kitchen is on fire. She’s standing in her yard, her back to her house, unaware. How do you tell her?” “Fire, fire,” January said. “Lawdy, missum! Looky dere.” “Perfect,” I said. “Why is that correct?” Lizzie raised her hand. “Because we must let the whites be the ones who name the trouble.

Belief has nothing to do with truth. Believe what you like. Believe I'm lying and move through the world as a white boy. Believe I'm telling the truth and move through the world as a white boy anyway. Either way, no difference.

There might be some higher power, children, but it’s not their white God. However, the more you talk about God and Jesus and heaven and hell, the better they feel.” The children said together, “And the better they feel, the safer we are.

If one knows hell as home, then is returning to hell a homecoming? Even in hell, were there such a place, one would know where the fires were just a little cooler, where the rocks were just a little less jagged. And so it was in my hell.

You have a notion, like Raynal, of natural liberties, and we all have them by virtue of our being human. But when those liberties are put under societal and cultural pressure, they become civil liberties, and those are contingent on hierarchy and situation.

We started to laugh and then we spotted a white man up the road. There was nothing that irritated white men more than a couple of slaves laughing. I suspected they were afraid we were laughing at them or else they simply hated the idea of us having a good time.

But what are you going to say when she asks you about it?" I asked. Lizzie cleared her throat. "Miss Watson, dat sum conebread lak I neva before et." "Try 'dat be,' " I said. "That would be the correct incorrect grammar." "Dat be sum of conebread lak neva I et," she said. "Very good," I said.

Was she pretty?” he asked. “I dunno. I reckon. It’s a scary thing for a slave to think such things.” “Why is that?” “Jest the way the world is.” “You think this here river is pretty?” Huck asked. “I reckon I do,” I said. “Then why you cain’t say if my mama was pretty?” “River ain’t a white woman.

It pained me to think that without a white person with me, without a white-looking face, I could not travel safely through the light of the world, but was relegated to the dense woods. Without someone white to claim me as property, there was no justification for my presence, perhaps for my existence.

Let’s imagine now that it’s a grease fire. She’s left bacon unattended on the stove. Mrs. Holiday is about to throw water on it. What do you say? Rachel?” "Missums, that water gone make it wurs!” “Of course, that’s true, but what’s the problem with that?” Virgil said, “You’re telling her she’s doing the wrong thing.

My name is James. I’m going to get my family. You can come with me or you can stay here. You can come and try freedom or you can stay here. You can die with me trying to find freedom or you can stay here and be dead anyway. My name is James.” “Morris.” “Harvey.” “Llewelyn.” “Buck.” This from the smallest of them. “Let’s go.

I really wanted to read. Though Huck was asleep, I could not chance his waking and discovering me with my face in an open book. Then I thought, How could he know that I was actually reading? I could simply claim to be staring dumbly at the letters and words, wondering what in the world they meant. How could he know? At that moment the power of reading made itself clear and real to me. If I could see the words, then no one could control them or what I got from them. They couldn’t even know if I was merely seeing them or reading them, sounding them out or comprehending them. It was a completely private affair and completely free and, therefore, completely subversive.

At that moment the power of reading made itself clear and real to me. If I could see the words, then no one could control them or what I got from them. They couldn't even know if I was merely seeing them or reading them, sounding them out or comprehending them. It was a completely private affair and completely free, and therefore, completely subversive.

You have a notion, like Raynal, of natural liberties, and we all have them by virtue of our being human. But when those liberties are put under societal and cultural pressure, they become civil liberties, and those are contingent on hierarchy and situation. Am I close?" Voltaire was scribbling on paper. "That was good, that was good. Say all of that again.

White folks expect us to sound a certain way and it can only help if we don’t disappoint them,” I said. “The only ones who suffer when they are made to feel inferior is us. Perhaps I should say ‘when they don’t feel superior.’ So, let’s pause to review some of the basics.” “Don’t make eye contact,” a boy said. “Right, Virgil.” “Never speak first,” a girl said. “That’s correct, February,” I said.

They want you because you’re money.” “What?” “You’re mortgaged, Jim. Like a farm, like a house. Really, the bank owns you. Miss Watson gets a bond, a piece of paper that say what you’re worth, and you just keep living in this condition. Living. You’re a part of the bank’s assets and so people all over the world are making money off your scarred black hide. Make sense? Nobody wants you free.” “Somebody does. There’s a war.” She nodded. “Maybe you won’t be a slave, but you won’t be free.

Should we save them, Jim?" The boy was so innocent. "Huck, I reckon if'n we save 'em, dey gonna turn me in. What you think?" The boy studied on that for a spell. "I reckon you're right. But what will them folks do to them?" "I don't know, Huck. Maybe dey jest pay a fine. Maybe dey get tarred and feathered. I don't know." "That seems right awful." "I s'pose it do. But dey was stealin' from dem folk. Tellin' lies lak dey was. He weren't neber no pirate." "Yes, but them people liked it, Jim. Did you see their faces? They had to know them was lies, but they wanted to believe. What do you make of that?" "Folks be funny lak dat. Dey takes the lies dey want and throws away the truths dat scares 'em." The river put its full pull on us and we watched the men grow smaller. "I reckon I do that, too," the boy said. "What say?" "I kin see how much you miss yer family and yet I don't think about it. I forget that you feel things jest like I feel. I know you love them." "Thank you, Huck.

I am called Jim. I have yet to choose a name. In the religious preachings of my white captors I am a victim of the Curse of Ham. The white so-called masters cannot embrace their cruelty and greed, but must look to that lying Dominican friar for religious justification. But I will not let this condition define me. I will not let myself, my mind, drown in fear and outrage. I will be outraged as a matter of course. But my interest is in how these marks that I am scratching on this page can mean anything at all. If they can have meaning, then life can have meaning, then I can have meaning.

Yes?” “That is what equality is, Jim. It’s the capacity for becoming equal. The same way a black man in Martinique can learn French and so become French, he can also acquire the skills of equality and so become equal. But I repeat myself.” “I hate you,” I said through my fever and chills. “You realize, of course, that I have been bitten by a snake. Only to have you come to me in this delirium.” “Well, yes, but all men are equal. That’s my point. But even you have to admit the presence of, shall we call him—it—the devil, in your African humans.” Voltaire adjusted his position and held his hands to the fire. “You’re saying we’re equal, but also inferior,” I said. “I’m detecting a disapproving tone,” he said. “Listen, my friend, I’m on your side. I’m against the institution of slavery. Slavery of any kind. You know that I am an abolitionist of the first order.” “Thank you?” “You’re welcome.” “You do not believe that humans are inherently bad?” I asked. “I do not. If they were, they would kill as soon as they could walk.” “How do you explain slavery? Why are my people subjected to it, treated with such cruelty?” Voltaire shrugged. “Let me try this,” I said. “You have a notion, like Raynal, of natural liberties, and we all have them by virtue of our being human. But when those liberties are put under

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