Go home and write / a page tonight. / And let that page come out of you - / Then, it will be true.

The calm, Cool face of the river, Asked me for a kiss

Melting pot Harlem-Harlem of honey and chocolate and caramel and rum and vinegar and lemon and lime and gall. Dusky dream Harlem rumbling into a nightmare tunnel where the subway from the Bronx keeps right on downtown.

I have discovered in life that there are ways of getting almost anywhere you want to go, if you really want to go.

Life dosent frighten me at all.

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!"

Beauty for some provides escape, who gain a happiness in eyeing the gorgeous buttocks of the ape or Autumn sunsets exquisitely dying.