Curiosity killed the cat.

Why am I afraid to dance, I who love music and rhythm and grace and song and laughter? Why am I afraid to live, I who love life and the beauty of flesh and the living colors of the earth and sky and sea? Why am I afraid to love, I who love love?

Dey's some things I don't got to be told. I kin read them in folks' eyes.

We need above all to learn again to believe in the possibility of nobility of spirit in ourselves.

Like a saint's vision of beatitude. Like the veil of things as they seem drawn back by an unseen hand. For a second you see—and seeing the secret, are the secret. For a second there is meaning! Then the hand lets the veil fall and you are alone, lost in the fog again, and you stumble on toward nowhere, for no good reason!

Critics? I love every bone in their heads.

I am so far from being a pessimist...on the contrary, in spite of my scars, I am tickled to death at life.