I stuck my head out the window this morning and spring kissed me bang in the face.
Life dosent frighten me at all.
It has seemed to me that most people are generally good, in every race and in every country where I have been.
Life is an egg you have to be patient and careful with it or it will break.
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? ... Or does it explode?
When poems stop talking about the moon and begin to mention poverty, trade unions, color, color lines and colonies, somebody tells the police.