As long as what is is-and Georgia is Georgia-I will take Harlem for mine. At least, if trouble comes, I will have my own window to shoot from.

I stuck my head out the window this morning and spring kissed me bang in the face.

Misery is when you heard on the radio that the neighborhood you live in is a slum but you always thought it was home.

Sometimes I wish the public were equally aware of the men of our race in the cultural fields. You, for instance, have you ever bought a book by a Negro writer?

I am the American heartbreak- The rock on which Freedom Stumped its toe.

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

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.