And if sun comes / How shall we greet him? / Shall we not dread him, / Shall we not fear him / After so lengthy a / Session with shade?

I think there are things for all of us to do as long as we're here and we're healthy.

at a certain moment in social proceedings, I am on FIRE to leave: I have a leaving-FIT.

I tell poets that when a line just floats into your head, don't pay attention 'cause it probably has floated into somebody else's head.

We real cool. We Left school. We Lurk late. We Strike straight. We Sing sin. We Thin gin. We Jazz June. We Die soon.

I don't want people running around saying Gwen Brooks's work is intellectual. That makes people think instantly about obscurity. It shouldn't have to mean that, but it often seems to.

I am interested in telling my particular truth as I have seen it.