I live in the United States, but I do not know exactly where. My address is wherever there is a fight against oppression.

That is, the wife must care for what the husband cares for if he is to remain resolute.

I am not unaware that leaders betray, and sell out, and play false.

In Georgia where children work day and night in the cotton mills they have just passed a bill to protect song birds. What about the little children from whom all song is gone?

I preferred sewing to bossing little children.

But in Shimabukuro's hands, as he breaks out experimental jazz, lays down a steady blues train, or shreds on rock anthems, this little jumping flea becomes a melodic monster.

Men's hearts are cold. They are indifferent.