Every Heart Has Its Graveyard.

Don't You Love Nobody Better'n You Do Yo'self. Do, You'll Be Dying Befo' Yo' Time Is Out.

From Barren Brown Stems To Glistening Leaf-buds; From The Leaf-buds To Snowy Virginity Of Bloom…it Was Like A Flute Song Forgotten In Another Existence And Remembered Again. What? How? Why? This Singing She Heard That Had Nothing To Do With Her Ears. The Rose Of The World Was Breathing Out Smell. It Followed Her Through All Her Waking Moments And Caressed Her In Her Sleep.

You Got To Go There To Know There.

I Maintain That I Have Been A Negro Three Times--a Negro Baby, A Negro Girl And A Negro Woman. Still, If You Have Received No Clear Cut Impression Of What The Negro In America Is Like, Then You Are In The Same Place With Me. There Is No The Negro Here. Our Lives Are So Diversified, Internal Attitudes So Varied, Appearances And Capabilities So Different, That There Is No Possible Classification So Catholic That It Will Cover Us All, Except My People! My People!

The Present Was An Egg Laid By The Past That Had The Future Inside Its Shell.