An Envious Heart Makes A Treacherous Ear.

And I Can't Die Easy Thinking Maybe The Menfolks White Or Black Is Making A Spit Cup Out Of You. Have Some Sympathy For Me. Put Me Down Easy, Janie, I'm A Cracked Plate.

When I Pitched Headforemost Into The World I Landed In The Crib Of Negroism.

I Do Not Pray. . . . I Do Not Expect God To Single Me Out And Grant Me Advantages Over My Fellow Men. . . . Prayer Seems To Me A Cry Of Weakness, And An Attempt To Avoid, By Trickery, The Rules Of The Game As Laid Down. I Do Not Choose To Admit Weakness. I Accept The Challenge Of Responsibility.

Mama Exhorted Her Children At Every Opportunity To 'jump At The Sun.' We Might Not Land On The Sun, But At Least We Would Get Off The Ground.

Now, Suppose A Negro Does Something Really Magnificent, And I Glory, Not In The Benefit To Mankind, But In The Fact That The Doer Was A Negro. Must I Not Also Go Hang My Head In Shame When A Member Of My Race Does Something Execrable? . . . The White Race Did Not Go Into A Laboratory And Invent Incandescent Light. That Was Edison. . . . If You Are Under The Impression That Every White Man Is An Edison, Just Look Around A Bit.