Perhaps, it is just as well to be rash and foolish for a while. If writers were too wise, perhaps no books would be written at all. It might be better to ask yourself "Why?" afterwards than before. Anyway, the force from somewhere in Space which commands you to write in the first place, gives you no choice. You take up the pen when you are told, and write what is commanded. There is no agony like bearing an untold story inside you.

I love myself when I am laughing. . . and then again when I am looking mean and impressive.

Once you wake up thought in a man, you can never put it to sleep again.

Look lak she been livin' through uh hundred years in January without one day of spring.

Lack of power and opportunity passes off too often for virtue.

Every morning the world flung itself over and exposed the town to the sun.

If it was so honorable and glorious to be black, why was it the yellow-skinned people among us had so much prestige?