I'm so tired of waiting, aren't you, for the world to become good and beautiful and kind?

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.

What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? ... Or does it explode?

Let the rain sing you a lullaby.

Let America be America again. Let it be the dream it used to be.

Through my grandmother's stories always life moved, moved heroically toward an end. Nobody ever cried in my grandmother's stories. They worked, or schemed, or fought. But no crying. When my grandmother died, I didn't cry, either. Something about my grandmother's stories (without her ever having said so) taught me the uselessness of crying about anything."

Believing everything she read In the daily news, (No in-between to choose) She thought that only One side won, Not that BOTH Might lose.