The Liquor Of Statecraft Is Distilled From

I Do Not Weep At The World I Am Too Busy Sharpening My Oyster Knife.

I Belong To No Race Nor Time. I Am The Eternal Feminine With Its String Of Beads.

The Sun Had Become A Light Yellow Yolk And Was Walking With Red Legs Across The Sky.

No Man May Make Another Free.

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