I walk into a room Just as cool as you please, And to a man, The fellows stand or Fall down on their knees.

I want to thank you, Lord, for life and all that's in it. Thank you for the day and for the hour, and the minute.

I don't know how much longer I'll be around. I'll probably be writing when the Lord says, 'Maya, Maya Angelou, it's time.'

Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs?

The trouble for the thief is not how to steal the chief’s bugle, but where to blow it.

If men are God's gift to women, then God must really love gag gifts.

We write for the same reason that we walk, talk, climb mountains or swim the oceans - because we can. We have some impulse within us that makes us want to explain ourselves to other human beings.