Art Hurts. Art Urges Voyages - And

I Am A Writer Perhaps Because I Am Not A Talker.

People Are So In Need, In Need Of Help. People Want So Much That They Do Not Know.

The Forties And Fifties Were Years Of High Poet-incense; The Language-flowers Were Thickly Sweet. Those Flowers Whined And Begged White Folks To Pick Them, To Find Them Lovable. Then The '60s: Independent Fire!

Don't Let Anyone Call You A Minority If You're Black Or Hispanic Or Belong To Some Other Ethnic Group. You're Not Less Than Anybody Else.

We Are Each Other's Magnitude And Bond.