Status Updates From El blues de Beale Street

I suppose the root of the resentment - a resentment which hides a bottomless terror - has to do with the fact that a woman is tremendously controlled by what the man’s imagination makes of her - literally, hour by hour, day by day; so she becomes a woman. But a man exists in his own imagination, and can never be at the mercy of a woman’s.

hm

I guess it can’t be too often that two people can laugh and make love, too, make love because they are laughing, laugh because they’re making love. The love and the lughter come from the same place: but not many people go there.