I'm independent as a hog on ice and a hog on ice is dead, cold, well-preserved and don't need a mother'grabbin, thing.

The twisted circumstances under which we live is grist for the writing mill, the loving, hating and discovering, finding new handles for old pitchers . . .

Everybody's got some sin, but if it troubles your heart you're a gentle sinner, just a good soul gone wrong.

And realizing there is no such thing as the Black experience. Time and events allow for change on both sides.

Some truth has no nourishment in it.

Zis and zat' when uttered by the French is considered charming, but 'dis and dat' as an Africanism is ridiculed as gross and ugly.

The Black writer explains pain to those who inflict it.