People Can Be Slave-ships In Shoes.

She's Got Those Big Black Eyes With Plenty Shiny White In Them That Makes Them Shine Like Brand New Money And She Knows What God Gave Women Eyelashes For, Too. Her Hair Is Not What You Might Call Straight. It's Negro Hair, But It's Got A Kind Of White Flavor. Like The Piece Of String Out Of A Ham. It's Not Ham At All, But It's Been Around Ham And Got The Flavor.

If You Kin See De Light At Daybreak, You Don't Keer If You Die At Dusk. It's So Many People Never Seen De Light At All.

It Was A Weak Spot In Any Nation To Have A Large Body Of Disaffected People Within Its Confusion.

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

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.