Grab The Broom Of Anger And Drive

She Had An Inside And An Outside Now And Suddenly She Knew How Not To Mix Them.

It's A Funny Thing, The Less People Have To Live For, The Less Nerve They Have To Risk Losing Nothing.

To A Haughty Belly, Kindness Is Hard To Swallow And Harder To Digest.

I Am Not Tragically Colored. There Is No Great Sorrow Dammed Up In My Soul, Nor Lurking Behind My Eyes. I Do Not Mind At All. I Do Not Belong To The Sobbing School Of Negrohood Who Hold That Nature Somehow Has Given Them A Lowdown Dirty Deal And Whose Feelings Are All Hurt About It. Even In The Helter-skelter Skirmish That Is My Life, I Have Seen That The World Is To The Strong Regardless Of A Little Pigmentation More Or Less. No, I Do Not Weep At The World—i Am Too Busy Sharpening My Oyster Knife.

Once You Wake Up Thought In A Man, You Can Never Put It To Sleep Again.