Truth Is A Letter From

The Haitian People Are Gentle And Lovable Except For Their Enormous And Unconscious Cruelty.

Someone Is Always At My Elbow Reminding Me That I Am The Grand-daughter Of Slaves. It Fails To Register Depression With Me. Slaver Y Is Sixty Years In The Past. The Operation Was Successful And The Patient Is Doing Well, Thank You. The Terrible Struggle That Made Me An American Out Of A Potential Slave Said "on The Line!" The Reconstruction Said "go!" I Am Off To A Flying Start And I Must Not Halt In The Stretch To Look Behind And Weep.

My Head Was Full Of Misty Fumes Of Doubt.

It Seemed To Me That The Human Beings I Met Reacted Pretty Much The Same To The Same Stimuli. Different Idioms,yes. Circumstances And Conditions Having Power To Influence, Yes. Inherent Difference, No.

To Me, Bitterness Is The Under-arm Odor Of Wishful Weakness. It Is The Graceless Acknowledgment Of Defeat.