When I was six years old, my mother died; and then, for the first time, I learned, by the talk around me, that I was a slave.

There must be sophistry in all this; but the condition of a slave confuses all principles of morality, and, in fact, renders the practice of them impossible.

When my babe was born, they said it was premature. It weighed only four pounds; but God let it live.

Death is better than slavery.

I would rather drudge out my life on a cotton plantation, till the grave opened to give me rest, than to live with an unprincipled master and a jealous mistress.

No pen can give an adequate description of the all-pervading corruption produced by slavery.

There are wrongs which even the grave does not bury.