Quaint, Outlandish Heathen Gods Black

The Night Whose Sable Breast Relieves The Stark, White Stars, Is No Less Lovely Being Dark

The Truth Is... Everything Counts. Everything. Everything We Do And Everything We Say. Everything Helps Or Hurts; Everything Adds To Or Takes Away From Someone Else.

Death Cut The Strings That Gave Me Life, And Handed Me To Sorrow, The Only Kind Of Middle Wife My Folks Could Beg Or Borrow.

There Is No Secret To Success Except Hard Work And Getting Something Indefinable Which We Call 'the Breaks.

[w]e Have Always Resented The Natural Inclination Of Most White People To Demand Spirituals The Moment It Is Known That A Negro Is About To Sing. So Often The Request Has Seemed To Savor Of The Feeling That We Could Do This And This Alone.