#AmericanWriters
I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the w… My soul has grown deep like the ri… I bathed in the Euphrates when da… I built my hut near the Congo and…
I sat there singing her Songs in the dark. She said; 'I do not understand The words’.
My old mule, He’s gota grin on his face. He’s been a mule so long He’s forgotten about his race. I’m like that old mule —
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
Children, I come back today To tell you a story of the long da… That I had to climb, that I had t… In order that the race might live… Look at my face —dark as the night…
2 and 2 are 4. 4 and 4 are 8. But what would happen If the last 4 was late? And how would it be
I play it cool I dig all jive. That's the reason I stay alive. My motto
Let’s go see Old Abe Sitting in the marble and the moon… Sitting lonely in the marble and t… Quiet for ten thousand centuries,… Quiet for a million, million years…
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
Go home and write a page tonight. And let that page come out of you— Then, it will be true. I wonder if it’s that simple?
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark