You Heard Me. You Ain't

Janie Looked Down On Him And Felt A Self-crushing Love. So Her Soul Crawled Out From Its Hiding Place.

I Am Not Tragically Colored. There Is No Great Sorrow Dammed Up In My Soul, Nor Lurking Behind My Eyes. I Do Not Mind At All. I Do Not Belong To The Sobbing School Of Negrohood Who Hold That Nature Somehow Has Given Them A Lowdown Dirty Deal And Whose Feelings Are All Hurt About It. Even In The Helter-skelter Skirmish That Is My Life, I Have Seen That The World Is To The Strong Regardless Of A Little Pigmentation More Or Less. No, I Do Not Weep At The World—i Am Too Busy Sharpening My Oyster Knife.

I Hold That Any Religion That Satisfies The Individual Urge Is Valid For That Person.

Ships At A Distance Have Every Man's Wish On Board. For Some They Come In With The Tide. For Others They Sail Forever On The Same Horizon, Never Out Of Sight, Never Landing Until The Watcher Turns His Eyes Away In Resignation, His Dreams Mocked To Death By Time. That Is The Life Of Men. Now, Women Forget All Those Things They Don't Want To Remember, And Remember Everything They Don't Want To Forget. The Dream Is The Truth. Then They Act And Do Things Accordingly.

If It Was So Honorable And Glorious To Be Black, Why Was It The Yellow-skinned People Among Us Had So Much Prestige?