No Case Of Libel By A Negro

Personal Publicity Is Apt To Be Dangerous To Any Writer's Integrity; For The Moment He Begins To Fancy Himself As Quite A Person, A Taint Creeps Into His Work.

...a Pie So Delicate, So Luscious, That I Hope To Be Propped Up On My Dying Bed And Fed A Generous Portion. Then I Think That I Should Refuse Outright To Die, For Life Would Be Too Good To Relinquish.

Words Began Fights And Words Ended Them.

A Dead Tree, Falling, Made Less Havoc Than A Live One. It Seemed As Though A Live Tree Went Down Fighting, Like An Animal.

Who Owns Cross Creek? The Red-birds, I Think, More Than I, For They Will Have Their Nests Even In The Face Of Delinquent Mortgages..it Seems To Me That The Earth May Be Borrowed, But Not Bought. It May Be Used, But Not Owned. It Gives Itself In Response To Love And Tending, Offers Its Sesonal Flowering And Fruiting. But We Are Tenants And Not Possessors, Lovers, And Not Masters. Cross Creek Belongs To The Wind And The Rain, To The Sun And The Seasons, To The Cosmic Secrecy Of Seed, And Beyond All, To Time..."