People are trapped in history and history is trapped in them.

In the invincible and indescribable squalor of Harlem ... I was tormented. I felt caged, like an animal. I wanted to escape. I felt if I did not get out I would slowly strangle.

The sea rises, the light fails, lovers cling to each other and children cling to us. The moment we cease to hold each other, the moment we break faith with one another, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out.

A society must assume that it is stable, but the artist must know, and he must let us know, that there is nothing stable under heaven.

If the relationship of father to son could really be reduced to biology, the whole earth would blaze with the glory of fathers and sons.

People who cling to their illusions find it difficult, if not impossible, to learn anything worth learning: a people under the necessity of creating themselves must examine everything, and soak up learning the way the roots of a tree soak up water.

No one can possibly know what is about to happen: it is happening, each time, for the first time, for the only time.