I was reared in the conservative atmosphere of a Methodist parsonage.

We were not made to eternally weep.

Whatever lives is granted breath But by the grace and sufferance of Death.

The loss of love is a terrible thing; They lie who say that death is worse.

All day long and all night through, One thing only must I do: Quench my pride and cool my blood, Lest I perish in the flood.

If I am going to be a poet at all, I am going to be POET and not NEGRO POET.

I have a rendezvous with life.