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Whenever my environment had failed to support or nourish me, I had clutched at books.

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Book Clinched Environment Fail Nourish Support

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In me was shaping a yearning for a kind of consciousness.
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You usually take it for granted and think you know us, but our history is far stranger than you suspect, and we are not what we seem.
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We had our own civilization in Africa before we were captured and carried off to this land.
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I did not know if the story was factually true or not, but it was emotionally true […].
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Kill them, turn back time to the moment before I had talked so that I could have another chance to save myself.
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Goddamnit, look! We live here and they live there.
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But the color of a Negro’s skin makes him easily recognizable, makes him suspect, converts him into a defenseless target
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Whenever my environment had failed to support or nourish me, I had clutched at books.
RICHARD WRIGHT

Book Clinched Environment Fail Nourish Support
Reading was like a drug, a dope. The novels created moods in which I lived for days.
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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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there are times when life’s ends are so raveled that reason and sense cry out that we stop and gather them together again before we can proceed
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I could endure the hunger. I had learned to live with hate.
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And they do not know why; they are powerless pawns in a blind play of social forces.
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The locomotive of my heart was rushing down a dangerously steep slope, heading for a collision, heedless of the warning red lights that blinked all about me, the sirens and the ells and the screams that filled the air.
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I knew that I lived in a country in which the aspirations of black people were limited, marked-off. Yet I felt that I had to go somewhere and do something to redeem my being alive.
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What could I dream of that had the barest possibility of coming true?
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