Until we are all free, we are none of us free.
Still ours the dance, the feast, the glorious Psalm, The mystic lights of emblem, and the Word.
Thou two-faced year, Mother of Change and Fate...
My own curiosity and interest are insatiable.
I am never going to write for the sake of writing.
Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore, send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me: I lift my lamp beside the golden door.