For four hundred years the blacks of Haiti had yearned for peace. for three hundred years the island was spoken of as a paradise of riches and pleasures, but that was in reference to the whites to whom the spirit of the land gave welcome. Haiti has meant split blood and tears for blacks.

You heard me. You ain't blind.

Everybody has some special road of thought along which they travel when they are alone to themselves. And his road of thought is what makes every man what he is.

When a man keeps beating me to the draw mentally, he begins to get glamorous.

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

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

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