It Must Be Recess In (heaven) If

It's No Use Of Talking Unless People Understand What You Say.

Tell Me, And Then Again Show Me, So I Can Know.

I Do Not Pray. . . . I Do Not Expect God To Single Me Out And Grant Me Advantages Over My Fellow Men. . . . Prayer Seems To Me A Cry Of Weakness, And An Attempt To Avoid, By Trickery, The Rules Of The Game As Laid Down. I Do Not Choose To Admit Weakness. I Accept The Challenge Of Responsibility.

Now, Suppose A Negro Does Something Really Magnificent, And I Glory, Not In The Benefit To Mankind, But In The Fact That The Doer Was A Negro. Must I Not Also Go Hang My Head In Shame When A Member Of My Race Does Something Execrable? . . . The White Race Did Not Go Into A Laboratory And Invent Incandescent Light. That Was Edison. . . . If You Are Under The Impression That Every White Man Is An Edison, Just Look Around A Bit.

I Have Known The Joy And Pain Of Friendship. I Have Served And Been Served. I Have Made Some Good Enemies For Which I Am Not A Bit Sorry. I Have Loved Unselfishly, And I Have Fondled Hatred With The Red-hot Tongs Of Hell. That's Living.