In the West the past is like a dead animal. It is a carcass picked at by the flies that call themselves historians and biographers. But in my culture the past lives. My people feel this way in part because death does not separate us from our ancestors.

If given a choice, I would have certainly selected to be what I am: one of the oppressed instead of one of the oppressors.

In the mind, in the heart, I was always home. I always imagined, really, going back home.

Africa has her mysteries, and even a wise man cannot understand them. But a wise man respects them

I have to go and say farewell to all the countries that I have been to, if I can. I am 73 now, it is taxing on me.

I have one thing in common with the emerging black nations of Africa: We both have voices, and we are discovering what we can do with them.

You are damned and praised, or encouraged or discouraged by those who listen to you, and those who come to applaud you. And to me, those people are very important.