The key to all strange things is in thy heart..../ My spirit has come home, that sailed the doubtful seas.

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

[W]e have always resented the natural inclination of most white people to demand spirituals the moment it is known that a Negro is about to sing. So often the request has seemed to savor of the feeling that we could do this and this alone.

The key to all strange things is in thy heart..../ My spirit has come home, that sailed the doubtful seas.

For we must be one thing or the other, an asset or a liability, the sinew in your wing to help you soar, or the chain to bind you to earth.

We shall not always plant while others reap

The truth is... everything counts. Everything. Everything we do and everything we say. Everything helps or hurts; everything adds to or takes away from someone else.