What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore-- And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over-- like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode?

Blues had the pulse beat of the people who keep on going.

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

Everybody should take each other as they are, white, black, Indians, Creole. Then there would be no prejudice, nations would get along.

It is the duty of the younger Negro artist . . . to change through the force of his art that old whispering "I want to be white," hidden in the aspirations of his people, to "Why should I want to be white? I am a Negro - and beautiful!"

Humor is laughing at what you haven't got when you ought to have it ... what you wish in your secret heart were not funny, but it is, and you must laugh. Humor is your own unconscious therapy. Like a welcome summer rain, humor may suddenly cleanse and cool the earth, the air, and you.

Pleasured equally In seeking as in finding, Each detail minding, Old Walt went seeking And finding.