Sometimes, reading a blog, which I do infrequently, I see that generations of Americans have been wilfully crippled, and can no longer spell or write a sentence.

The quietly pacifist peaceful always die to make room for men who shout.

Some colored people so scared of whitefolks they claim to love the cotton gin.

The infinite faith I have in people's ability to understand anything that makes sense has always been justified, finally, by their behavior.

Freedom, after all, is like love: the more you give to others, the more you have.

My heart hurt so much I can't believe it. How can it keep beating, feeling like this?

I think colors are miraculous. We live in a universe that is extremely creative and magical. We become happier as we appreciate these things in nature.