Added To The Moral Solitude Of The

Though They May Not Always Be Handsome Men Doomed To Evil Posses The Manly Virtues.

Anyone Who Knows A Strange Fact Shares In Its Singularity.

What I Did Not Yet Know So Intensely Was The Hatred Of The White American For The Black, A Hatred So Deep That I Wonder If Every White Man In This Country, When He Plants A Tree, Doesn't See Negroes Hanging From Its Branches.

Perhaps All Music, Even The Newest, Is Not So Much Something Discovered As Something That Re-emerges From Where It Lay Buried In The Memory, Inaudible As A Melody Cut In A Disc Of Flesh. A Composer Lets Me Hear A Song That Has Always Been Shut Up Silent Within Me.

When We See Life, We Call It Beautiful. When We See Death, We Call It Ugly. But It Is More Beautiful Still To See Oneself Living At Great Speed, Right Up To The Moment Of Death.