Out of the huts of history's shame I rise Up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

No one comes from the earth like grass. We come like trees. We all have roots.

Love is that condition in the human spirit so profound that it empowers us to develop courage; to trust that courage and build bridges with it; to trust those bridges and cross over them so we can attempt to reach each other.

Few, if any, survive their teens. Most surrender to the vague but murderous pressure of adult conformity.

Whining is not only graceless, but it can be dangerous. It can alert a brute that a victim is in the neighborhood.

Those who have something to say accept the fact that that's lonely. One already knows that there will be adversaries.

I am convinced that most people do not grow up ... our real selves, the children inside, are still innocent and shy as magnolias.