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Anything seemed possible, likely, feasible, because I wanted everything to be possible… Because I had no power to make things happen outside of me in the objective world.

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Marilyn Monroe Paulo Coelho Abraham Lincoln C. S. Lewis Khalil Gibran Charlie Chaplin Gautama Buddha Isaac Newton

No matter how much he would long for them to forget him, they would not be able to. His family was a part of him, not only in blood, but in spirit.
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Able Blood Family Forget Long Matter No Spirit
Is not life exactly what it ought to be, in a certain sense? Isn’t it only the naive who find all of this baffling?
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Certain Civilization Exactly Heart Life Men Ought Sense
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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I listened, vaguely knowing now that I had committed some awful wrong that I could not undo, that I had uttered words I could not recall even though I ached to nullify them.
RICHARD WRIGHT

Ache Another Awful Chance Committed Done Knowing Listen Some Undo Vaguely
I didn’t know I was really alive in this world until I felt things hard enough to kill for ’em.
RICHARD WRIGHT

Alive Ems Enough Felt Kill Life Until
I endowed it with unlimited potentialities, redeemed it for the sake of my own hungry and cloudy yearning.
RICHARD WRIGHT

Cloudy Endowed Hungry Own Potentialities Redeem Ultimate Yearning
Goddamnit, look! We live here and they live there.
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Love grows from stable relationships, shared experience, loyalty, devotion, trust.
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They hate because they fear, and they fear because they feel that the deepest feelings of their lives are being assaulted and outraged.
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I was leaving the South to fling myself into the unknown . . .
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Reluctantly, he comes to the conclusion that to account for his book is to account for his life.
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Reading was like a drug, a dope. The novels created moods in which I lived for days.
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I could endure the hunger. I had learned to live with hate.
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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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If a man confessed anything on his death bed, it was the truth; for no man could stare death in the face and lie.
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Make up your mind, Snail! You are half inside your house, And halfway out!
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