There Is Something About Poverty That Smells

Tain't No Use In You Cryin' . . . But Folks Is Meant To Cry 'bout Somethin' Or Other. Better Leave Things De Way Dey Is. Youse Young Yet. No Tellin' Whut Mout Happen Befo' You Die.

She Knew Now That Marriage Did Not Make Love. Janie’s First Dream Was Dead, So She Became A Woman.

You Have No Idea, Sir, How Difficult It Is To Be The Victim Of Benevolence.

The Sun, The Hero Of Every Day, The Impersonal Old Man That Beams As Brightly On Death As On Birth, Came Up Every Morning.

She Stood There Until Something Fell Off The Shelf Inside Her.