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I was not leaving the south to forget the south, but so that some day I might understand it

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Day Forget Learn Leaving might Some South Understand

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I was leaving the South to fling myself into the unknown . . .
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I could think of nothing. And, slowly, it was upon exactly that nothingness that my mind began to dwell, that constant sense of wanting without having, of being hated without reason.
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Each day when you see us black folk upon the dusty land of your farm or upon the hard pavement of your city streets.
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Make up your mind, Snail! You are half inside your house, And halfway out!
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We invented a medium of exchange, mined silver and gold, made pottery and cutlery, we fashioned tools and utensils of brass, bronze, ivory, quartz, and granite.
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A mode of being that the way of life about me had said could not be, must not be, and upon which the penalty of death had been placed.
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Somewhere in the dead of the southern night my life had switched onto the wrong track and without my knowing it.
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Hunger has always been more or less at my elbow when I played, but now I began to wake up at night to find hunger standing at my bedside, staring at my gauntly.
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I was not leaving the south to forget the south, but so that some day I might understand it
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Day Forget Learn Leaving might Some South Understand
I made things happen within. Because my environment was bare and bleak,
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