Everybody Changes, Not Just Me.

And Why Does It Make You Sad To See How Everything Hangs By Such Thin And Whimsical Threads? Because You’re A Dreamer, An Incredible Dreamer, With A Tiny Spark Hidden Somewhere Inside You Which Cannot Die, Which Even You Cannot Kill Or Quench And Which Tortures You Horribly Because All The Odds Are Against Its Continual Burning. In The Midst Of The Foulest Decay And Putrid Savagery, This Spark Speaks To You Of Beauty, Of Human Warmth And Kindness, Of Goodness, Of Greatness, Of Heroism, Of Martyrdom, And It Speaks To You Of Love.

I Know That The Black Man's Sick Attitude Toward The White Woman Is A Revolutionary Sickness: It Keeps Him Perpetually Out Of Harmony With The System That Is Oppressing Him. Many Whites Flatter Themselves With The Idea That The Negro Male's Lust And Desire For The White Dream Girl Is Purely An Esthetic Attraction, But Nothing Could Be Further From The Truth. His Motivation Is Often Of Such A Bloody, Hateful, Bitter, And Malignant Nature That Whites Would Really Be Hard Pressed To Find It Flattering.

Americans Think Of Themselves Collectively As A Huge Rescue Squad On Twenty-four Hour Call To Any Spot On The Globe Where Dispute And Conflict May Erupt.

I've Gone Beyond Civil Rights And Human Rights To Creation Rights.

I Feel That I Am A Citizen Of The American Dream And That The Revolutionary Struggle Of Which I Am A Part Is A Struggle Against The American Nightmare.