There was one emotional outlet my people always had when they had the blues. That was singing.

It has been an ache and a joy both to look over this big shoulder of mine at all my yesterdays.

I want affection and tenderness desperately, but there's something in me that prevents me from handing it out.

The big compliment came from the beer drinkers who didn't know me. They wouldn't drink or move when I sang. If they had their glasses in mid-air, the glasses wouldn't come down.

There is a certain type of white Southerner who respects certain Negro individuals.

I have reason to be shy. I've been hurt plenty.

The greatest acts in colored show business had long made Harlem their home and favorite stamping ground.