The nation's capital that serves as the setting for the stories in Edward P. Jones's prizewinning collection, Lost in the City , lies far from the city of historic monuments and national politicians. Jones takes the reader beyond that world into the lives of African American men and women who... read more
“Offer a crust of bread to a sick bird and you often drew back a bloody finger.”narrator
One morning, toward four o’clock, they cut open her stomach and pulled out the child only moments after Clara died, mother and daughter passing each other as if along a corridor, one into death, the other into life.Highlighted by 7 Kindle customers
She was eighty-six years old, and had learned that life was all chaos and painful uncertainty and that the only way to get through it was to expect chaos even in the most innocent of moments. Offer a crust of bread to a sick bird and you often drew back a bloody finger.Highlighted by 5 Kindle customers
I hear what must be the singing and talking of all the children in the world, I can still hear my mother’s footsteps above it all.Highlighted by 5 Kindle customers
Miles Patterson, a bachelor and, some women said, a virgin, was fifty-six years old and for the most part knew no more about the world than what he could experience in newspapers or on the radio and in his own neighborhood, beyond which he rarely ventured.Highlighted by 4 Kindle customers
I am learning this about my mother: The higher up on the scale of respectability a person is—and teachers are rather high up in her eyes—the less she is liable to let them push her around.Highlighted by 4 Kindle customers
he cried out as if he had been struck. He had not seen his mother’s face in more than forty years, had thought his father had destroyed all the pictures of her. “You always looked like her,” Alice said, coming up behind him. “Even when you sat at the right hand of the father, you looked like her.”Highlighted by 3 Kindle customers
“Thas all they know to do,” which was what he had told her the week before. “Right now, this is all the home they know for sure. It ain’t got nothin to do with you, child. They just know to fly back here.”Highlighted by 3 Kindle customers
Marie sought help from no one, lest she come to depend on a person too much.Highlighted by 3 Kindle customers
all the innocence and joy and kindness had seeped out of Agnes Marie Williams and had become the pool of blood about her.Highlighted by 3 Kindle customers
My mother looks at me, then looks away. I know almost all of her looks, but this one is brand new to me. “Would you help me, then?”Highlighted by 3 Kindle customers
The Girl Who Raised Pigeons
The First Day
The Night Rhonda Ferguson Was Killed
Young Lions
The Store
An Orange Line Train to Ballston
The Sunday Following Mother's Day
Lost in the City
His Mother's House
A Butterfly on F Street
Gospel
A New Man
A Dark Night
Marie
some editions of the book:
A Selection from All Aunt Hagar's Children: A Rich Man
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