I think America concedes that true American music has sprung from the Negro.
The blues - the sound of a sinner on revival day.
With a guitar I would be able to express the things I felt in sounds.
Nature was my kindergarten.
The name of my ailment was longing, and it was not cured till I finally went to the department store and counted out the money in small coins before the dismayed clerk. When I came to the house, I held up the instrument before the eyes of the astonished household.
If my serenade of song and story should serve as a pillow for some composer's head, as yet perhaps unborn, to dream and build on our fond melodies in his tomorrow, I have not labored in vain.