When I'm sitting in the church alone, I can hear singing of the old people. I can hear their singing and I can hear their praying, and sometimes I hum one of their songs.

Don't tell me to believe. Don't tell me to believe in the same God or laws that men believe in who commit these murders. Don't tell me to believe that God can bless this country and that men are judged by their peers. Who among his peers judged him? Was I there? Was the minister there? Was Harry Williams there? Was Farrell Jarreau? Was my aunt? Was Vivian? No, his peers did not judge him, and I will not believe.

...my heart may have been in it but my soul was not.

Today I must write a paragraph or a page better than I did yesterday.

All writers write about the past, and I try to make it come alive so you can see what happened.

I have learned as much about writing about my people by listening to blues and jazz and spirituals as I have by reading novels.

I want you to show them the difference between what they think you are and what you can be.