Over and over and with the least provocation, they pulled from their stock of stories tales about the old folks, their grands and great-grands; their fathers and mothers. Dangerous confrontations, clever manoeuvres. Testimonies to endurance, wit, skill and strength. Tales of luck and outrage. But why were there no stories to tell of themselves? About their own lives they shut up. Had nothing to say, pass on. As though past heroism was enough of a future to live by. As though, rather than children, they wanted duplicates.
Toni Morrison
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In the narrative, the characters frequently recount stories from the past, focusing on the experiences of their ancestors and the challenges they faced. These tales reflect themes of resilience, intelligence, and strength, showcasing their heritage and historical struggles. However, a noticeable absence emerges as they fail to share their own personal stories, choosing instead to cling to the legacies of their forebears. This reliance on the past raises questions about their identities and futures.

The characters appear to find solace in the achievements of their ancestors, perhaps believing that these stories are sufficient for their present and future lives. Instead of fostering new experiences or narratives, they seem to desire replicas of their lineage, suggesting a hesitation to carve out their own paths. This dynamic highlights a tension between honoring the past and engaging with the present, underscoring a longing for continuity over individuality.

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Paradise
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Toni Morrison
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March 11, 2025
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Other quotes in Paradise

Over and over and with the least provocation, they pulled from their stock of stories tales about the old folks, their grands and great-grands; their fathers and mothers. Dangerous confrontations, clever manoeuvres. Testimonies to endurance, wit, skill and strength. Tales of luck and outrage. But why were there no stories to tell of themselves? About their own lives they shut up. Had nothing to say, pass on. As though past heroism was enough of a future to live by. As though, rather than children, they wanted duplicates.
Toni Morrison Paradise
Over and over and with the least provocation, they pulled from their stock of stories tales about the old folks, their grands and great-grands; their fathers and mothers. Dangerous confrontations, clever manoeuvres. Testimonies to endurance, wit, skill and strength. Tales of luck and outrage. But why were there no stories to tell of themselves? About their own lives they shut up. Had nothing to say, pass on. As though past heroism was enough of a future to live by. As though, rather than children, they wanted duplicates.
A voluntary act to fill empty hours had become intensive labor streaked with the bad feelings that ride the skin like pollen when too much about one's neighbors is known.
Toni Morrison Paradise
A voluntary act to fill empty hours had become intensive labor streaked with the bad feelings that ride the skin like pollen when too much about one's neighbors is known.
I've traveled. All over. I've never seen anything like you. How could anything be put together like you? Do you know how beautiful you are? Have you looked at yourself?''I'm looking now.
Toni Morrison Paradise
I've traveled. All over. I've never seen anything like you. How could anything be put together like you? Do you know how beautiful you are? Have you looked at yourself?''I'm looking now.
They shoot the white girl first, but the rest they can take their time. No need to hurry out here. They are 17 miles from a town which has 90 miles between it and any other. Hiding places will be plentiful in the convent, but there is time, and the day has just begun. They are nine. Over twice the number of the women, they are obliged to stampede or kill, and they have the paraphernalia for either requirement--rope, a palm leaf cross, handcuffs, mace, and sunglasses, along with clean, handsome guns.
Toni Morrison Paradise
They shoot the white girl first, but the rest they can take their time. No need to hurry out here. They are 17 miles from a town which has 90 miles between it and any other. Hiding places will be plentiful in the convent, but there is time, and the day has just begun. They are nine. Over twice the number of the women, they are obliged to stampede or kill, and they have the paraphernalia for either requirement--rope, a palm leaf cross, handcuffs, mace, and sunglasses, along with clean, handsome guns.
Don't do this to us. He warned, his voice hoarse with angry desperation as he realize he was losing her. You're letting eleven years of mistrust color everything you've discovered I've done.
Judith McNaught Paradise
Don't do this to us. He warned, his voice hoarse with angry desperation as he realize he was losing her. You're letting eleven years of mistrust color everything you've discovered I've done.
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Sociologists have a theory of the looking - glass self. You become what the most important person in your life {wife, father, boss, etc.} thinks you are. How would my life change if I truly believed the Bible's astounding words about God's love for me, if I looked in the mirror and saw what God sees?
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Sociologists have a theory of the looking - glass self. You become what the most important person in your life {wife, father, boss, etc.} thinks you are. How would my life change if I truly believed the Bible's astounding words about God's love for me, if I looked in the mirror and saw what God sees?
Arisha noticed that all the greenery and trees were dying the more they walked on. They finally arrived at a large clearing of a hidden valley. But it was desert like, bounded by the foothills of the mountains on one side and the dry rocky bluffs on the other. It seemed strange to Arisha. It seemed like a little pocket of dry desert death in the midst of an otherwise lively area. She stopped, stunned by the sight before her.
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Arisha noticed that all the greenery and trees were dying the more they walked on. They finally arrived at a large clearing of a hidden valley. But it was desert like, bounded by the foothills of the mountains on one side and the dry rocky bluffs on the other. It seemed strange to Arisha. It seemed like a little pocket of dry desert death in the midst of an otherwise lively area. She stopped, stunned by the sight before her.
Her head throbbed as though gremlins were ripping holes in her brain
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Her head throbbed as though gremlins were ripping holes in her brain
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