Too Much Agreement Kills A Chat.

Every Time I Embrace A Black Woman I’m Embracing Slavery, And When I Put My Arms Around A White Woman, Well, I’m Hugging Freedom. The White Man Forbade Me To Have The White Woman On Pain Of Death... I Will Not Be Free Until The Day I Can Have A White Woman In My Bed.

History Could Pass For A Scarlet Text, Its Jot And Title Graven Red In Human Blood.

The Racist Conscience Of America Is Such That Murder Does Not Register As Murder Really, Unless The Victim Is White... Blacks Knew That White Blood Is The Coin Of Freedom In A Land Where For Four Hundred Years Black Blood Has Been Shed Unremarked And With Impunity.

And Why Does It Make You Sad To See How Everything Hangs By Such Thin And Whimsical Threads? Because You’re A Dreamer, An Incredible Dreamer, With A Tiny Spark Hidden Somewhere Inside You Which Cannot Die, Which Even You Cannot Kill Or Quench And Which Tortures You Horribly Because All The Odds Are Against Its Continual Burning. In The Midst Of The Foulest Decay And Putrid Savagery, This Spark Speaks To You Of Beauty, Of Human Warmth And Kindness, Of Goodness, Of Greatness, Of Heroism, Of Martyrdom, And It Speaks To You Of Love.

The Price Of Hating Other Human Beings Is Loving Oneself Less.