I am not tragically colored. There is no great sorrow dammed up in my soul, nor lurking behind my eyes. I do not mind at all. I do not belong to the sobbing school of Negrohood who hold that nature somehow has given them a lowdown dirty deal and whose feelings are all hurt about it. Even in the helter-skelter skirmish that is my life, I have seen that the world is to the strong regardless of a little pigmentation more or less. No, I do not weep at the world—I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.

When Janie looked out of her door she saw the drifting mists gathered in the west -- that cloud field of the sky -- to arm themselves with thunders and march forth against the world. Louder and higher and lower and wider the sound and motion spread, mounting, sinking, darking.

want won't kill you half as quick as worry will.

But for the national welfare, it is urgent to realize that the minorities do think, and think about something other than the race problem.

Someone is always at my elbow reminding me that I am the granddaughter of slaves. It fails to register depression with me.

If you want that good feeling that comes from doing things for other folks then you have to pay for it in abuse and misunderstanding.

There is something about poverty that smells like death.