Yet The Ivory Gods, And

What Happens To A Dream Deferred?

Good Evening, Daddy! Ain't You Heard The Boogie-woogie Rumble Of A Dream Deferred? Trilling The Treble And Twining The Bass Into Midnight Ruffles Of Cat-gut Lace.

Road's In Front O' Me, Nothin' To Do But Walk.

Through My Grandmother's Stories Always Life Moved, Moved Heroically Toward An End. Nobody Ever Cried In My Grandmother's Stories. They Worked, Or Schemed, Or Fought. But No Crying. When My Grandmother Died, I Didn't Cry, Either. Something About My Grandmother's Stories (without Her Ever Having Said So) Taught Me The Uselessness Of Crying About Anything."

I Have Discovered In Life That There Are Ways Of Getting Almost Anywhere You Want To Go, If You Really Want To Go.