The white youth of today have begun to react to the fact that the American Way of Life is a fossil of history. What do they care if their old baldheaded and crew-cut elders don't dig their caveman mops? They couldn't care less about the old, stiff-assed honkies who don't like their new dances: Frog, Monkey, Jerk, Swim, Watusi. All they know is that it feels good to swing to way-out body-rhythms instead of dragging across the dance floor like zombies to the dead beat of mind-smothered Mickey Mouse music.

We shall have our manhood. We shall have it or the earth will be leveled by our attempts to gain it.

In prison, those things withheld from and denied to the prisoner become precisely what he wants most of all.

In the increasingly mechanized, automated, cybernated environment of the modern world a cold, bodiless world of wheels, smooth plastic surfaces, tubes, pushbuttons, transistors, computers, jet propulsion, rockets to the moon, atomic energy man's need for affirmation of his biology has become that much more intense.

I have lived those lines and I know that if I had not been apprehended I would have slit some white throats.

I've gone beyond civil rights and human rights to creation rights.

What America demands in her black champions is a brilliant, powerful body and a dull, bestial mind.