An Envious Heart Makes A Treacherous Ear.

The Haitian People Are Gentle And Lovable Except For Their Enormous And Unconscious Cruelty.

There Is Something About Poverty That Smells Like Death.

I Have The Nerve To Walk My Own Way, However Hard, In My Search For Reality, Rather Than Climb Upon The Rattling Wagon Of Wishful Illusions.

It Was The Meanest Moment Of Eternity.

The Sun, The Hero Of Every Day, The Impersonal Old Man That Beams As Brightly On Death As On Birth, Came Up Every Morning.