Well, son, I'll tell you: Life for me ain't been no crystal stair. It's had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up, And places with no carpet on the floor -- Bare. But all the time I'se been a-climbin' on, And reachin' landin's, And turnin' corners, And sometimes goin' in the dark Where there ain't been no light. So boy, don't you turn back. Don't you set down on the steps 'Cause you finds it's kinder hard. Don't you fall now -- For I'se still goin', honey, I'se still climbin', And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

If you want to honor me, give some young boy or girl who's coming along trying to create arts and write and compose and sing and act and paint and dance and make something out of the beauties of the Negro race-give that child some help.

For my best poems were all written when I felt the worst. When I was happy, I didn't write anything.

I am a Negro: Black as the night is black, Black like the depths of my Africa.

I got the Weary Blues And I can't be satisfied.

It's such a Bore Being always Poor.

Frosting Freedom Is just frosting On somebody else's Cake-- And so must be Till we Learn how to Bake.