I’s been livin’ a long time in yesterday, Sandy chile, an’ I knows there ain’t no room in de world fo’ nothin’ mo’n love. I know, chile! Ever’thing there is but lovin’ leaves a rust on yo’ soul. An’ to love sho ‘nough, you got to have a spot in yo’ heart fo’ ever’body – great an’ small, white an’ black, an’ them what’s good an’ them what’s evil – ‘cause love ain’t got no crowded-out places where de good ones stay an’ de bad ones can’t come in. When it gets that way, then it ain’t love.

My seeking has been to explain and illuminate the Negro condition in America and obliquely that of all human kind.

Good morning, Revolution: You're the very best friend I ever had. We gonna pal around together from now on

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?

I will not take "but" for an answer.

Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.

Life is a system of half-truths and lies, Opportunistic, convenient evasion.