Such As I Am, I Am A

Now, Suppose A Negro Does Something Really Magnificent, And I Glory, Not In The Benefit To Mankind, But In The Fact That The Doer Was A Negro. Must I Not Also Go Hang My Head In Shame When A Member Of My Race Does Something Execrable? . . . The White Race Did Not Go Into A Laboratory And Invent Incandescent Light. That Was Edison. . . . If You Are Under The Impression That Every White Man Is An Edison, Just Look Around A Bit.

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.

Everybody Is Two Beings: One Lives And Flourishes In The Daylight And Stands Guard. The Other Being Walks And Howls At Night.

He Looked Like The Love Thoughts Of Women.

I Note That The Africa Loves To Depict The Grace Of Reptiles.