As one of the dumb, voiceless ones I speak. One of the millions of immigrants beating, beating out their hearts at your gates for a breath of understanding.

The power that makes grass grow, fruit ripen, and guides the bird in flight is in us all.

I tasted the bread and wine of equality.

Poverty was an ornament on a learned man like a red ribbon on a white horse.

Poor people who had escaped from poverty as I had, feared it, hated it and fled from it all their lives. Those born rich could afford to be touched by it.

This fire in me, it's not just the hunger of a woman for a man - it's the hunger of all my people back of me, from all ages, for light, for the life higher!

I'm one of the millions of immigrant children, children of loneliness, wandering between worlds that are at once too old and too new to live in.