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Quote by Jacqueline Woodson

“When you're fifteen, you can't make promises of a return to the before place. Your aging eyes tell a different, truer story. Linden, Palmetto, Evergreen, Decatur, Woodbine- this neighborhood began as a forest. And now the streets were named for the trees that once lived here.”

Quote by Jacqueline Woodson

Work

Another Brooklyn

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Author

Jacqueline Woodson
Jacqueline Woodson

Jacqueline Woodson is an American writer known for her concise and poetic style. Her works cover a variety of themes, including race, identity, family, and growth. Born on February 12, 1963, Woodson's writing career began in children's literature and later expanded to adult literature. more

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“People changed and they didn’t. People evolved and they didn’t. Alice imagined a graph that showed how much people’s personalities shifted after high school on one axis and on the other, how many miles away from home they had moved. It was easy to stay the same when you were looking at the same walls. Layered on top would be how easy your life was along the way, how many levels of privilege surrounded you like a tiny glass object in a sea of packing peanuts.”

“Every moment was to be grasped because it would not appen again. 'This I had e had, and this, and this,' to taste life and smell it and grasp it, to bave It even if he could not hold it, knowing that be was aged and wise beyond his years, for 'When I am twenty I shall be old and the I shan't want these things,' said Julius. And every song be sang was an adieu, and every movement a gesture of farewell. He sought exhaustion in all its forms, deliberately he made a fetish of sensation and the enjoyment of unbounding health became a sensuous experience. 'If I do everything when I am nineteen I shan't want to do anything later,' be thought. If he had never known what it was to be a child, at least he would know how a big should live; and while he plunged headlong into every folly of mischief and adventure and vice, it was as though part of him stood aside, watching the figure of himself with his hands to his hips, waving good-bye to his own boyhood.”