Saving Was Slow And Painful.

You've Got To Appreciate The Things That Come From The Art Of The Negro And From The Heart Of The Man Farthest Down.

With A Guitar I Would Be Able To Express The Things I Felt In Sounds.

I Knew The Whistle Of Each Of The River Boats On The Tennessee.

You Can Never Tell What's In A Woman's Mind, And If She's From Harlem, There's No Use O' Tryin

If My Serenade Of Song And Story Should Serve As A Pillow For Some Composer's Head, As Yet Perhaps Unborn, To Dream And Build On Our Fond Melodies In His Tomorrow, I Have Not Labored In Vain.