I grow old though pleased with my memories The tasks I can no longer complete Are balanced by the love of the tasks gone past I offer no apology only this plea: When I am frayed and strained and drizzle at the end Please someone cut a square and put me in a quilt That I might keep some child warm And some old person with no one else to talk to Will hear my whispers And cuddle near

School should be eleven months of the year.

You have to use what you have in order to get what you need and the people can not be rich unless somebody is rich. The Hip-Hop generation has carried more people with it than any other enterprise Black Americans have had.

And you will understand all too soon That you, my children of battle, are your heroes

Once you know who you are, you don't have to worry anymore.

You must be unintimidated by your own thoughts.

i hope i die warmed by the life that i tried to live