Death Cut The Strings That Gave Me

Whatever Lives Is Granted Breath But By The Grace And Sufferance Of Death.

We Shall Not Always Plant While Others Reap

Father, Son, And Holy Ghost, So I Make An Idle Boast; Jesus Of The Twice-turned Cheek Lamb Of God, Although I Speak With My Mouth Thus, In My Heart Do I Play A Double Part.

My Poetry Has Become The Way Of My Giving Out What Music Is Within Me.

[w]e Have Always Resented The Natural Inclination Of Most White People To Demand Spirituals The Moment It Is Known That A Negro Is About To Sing. So Often The Request Has Seemed To Savor Of The Feeling That We Could Do This And This Alone.