I Regret All Of My Books.

It Seems To Me That Trying To Live Without Friends Is Like Milking A Bear To Get Cream For Your Morning Coffee. It Is A Whole Lot Of Trouble, And Then Not Worth Much After You Get It.

I Feel Most Colored When I Am Thrown Against A Sharp White Background........beside The Waters Of The Hudson" I Feel My Race. Among The Thousand White Persons, I Am A Dark Rock Surged Upon, And Overswept, But Through It All, I Remain Myself. When Covered By The Waters, I Am; And The Ebb But Reveals Me Again." How It Feels To Be Colored Me

It Seems That Fighting Is A Game Where Everybody Is The Loser.

Every Heart Has Its Graveyard.

Perhaps, It Is Just As Well To Be Rash And Foolish For A While. If Writers Were Too Wise, Perhaps No Books Would Be Written At All. It Might Be Better To Ask Yourself "why?" Afterwards Than Before. Anyway, The Force From Somewhere In Space Which Commands You To Write In The First Place, Gives You No Choice. You Take Up The Pen When You Are Told, And Write What Is Commanded. There Is No Agony Like Bearing An Untold Story Inside You.