Denver: What were you praying for, Ma’am?
Sethe: Not for anything. I don’t pray anymore. I just talk.
Denver: What were you talking about?
Sethe: You won’t understand, baby.
Denver: Yes, I will.
Sethe: I was talking about time. It’s so hard for me to believe in it. Some things go. Pass on. Some things just stay. I used to think it was my rememory. You know. Some things you forget. Other things you never do. But it’s not.
Places, places are still there. If a house burns down, it’s gone, but the place-the picture of it-stays, and not just in my rememory, but out there, in the world. What I remember is a picture floating around out there outside my head. I mean, even if I don’t think it, even if I die, the picture of what I did, or knew, or saw is still out there. Right in the place where it happened.
Denver: If it’s still there, waiting, that must mean that nothing ever dies.
Sethe: Nothing ever does.