New York Is The Last True City.

Grown Don't Mean Nothing To A Mother. A Child Is A Child. They Get Bigger, Older, But Grown? What's That Supposed To Mean? In My Heart It Don't Mean A Thing.

Guileless And Without Vanity,we Were Still In Love With Ourselves Then. We Felt Comfortable In Our Own Skins, Enjoyed The News That Our Senses Released To Us, Admired Our Dirt, Cultivated Our Scars, And Could Not Comprehend This Unworthiness.

Black Women Are The Touchstone By Which All That Is Human Can Be Measured.

We Mistook Violence For Passion, Indolence For Leisure, And Thought Recklessness Was Freedom.

The Peace I Am Thinking Of Is The Dance Of An Open Mind When It Engages Another Equally Open One.