Everything there is but lovin' leaves a rust on your old soul

Rest at pale evening... A tall slim tree... Night coming tenderly Black like me

I dream a world... where wretchedness will hang its head and joy, like a pearl, attends the needs of all mankind. Of such I dream, my world!

Most musicians remain poor. But the music that they make, even if it does not bring them millions, gives millions of people happiness.

Peace We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark They could not see Who had gained The victory.

Gather out of star-dust, Earth-dust, Cloud-dust, Storm-dust, And splinters of hail, One handful of dream-dust, Not for sale.

These feet have walked ten thousand miles working for white folks and another ten thousand keeping up with colored.