“In the house of poetry nothing endures that is not written with blood to be heard with blood.”

Hate is like a swordfish, working through water invisibly and then you see it coming with blood along its blade, but transparency disarms it.

In the eyes of mourning the land of dreams begins.”

Love is not about property, diamonds and gifts. It is about sharing your very self with the world around you.

The hardest way of learning is that of easy reading; but a great book that comes from a great thinker is a ship of thought, deep freighted with truth and beauty.

All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are.

And one by one the nights between our separated cities are joined to the night that unites us.

Every day you play with the light of the universe.

I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.

Today is today, and yesterday is gone. There is no doubt.

But from each crime are born bullets that will one day seek out in you where the heart lies.

I will bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

Love has to be flowering like the stars, and measureless as a kiss.

You are like night, calmed, constellated. Your silence is star-like, as distant, as true.

Then love knew it was called love. And when I lifted my eyes to your name, suddenly your heart showed me my way.

In love, you have loosened yourself like seawater.

He who does not travel, who does not read, who does not listen to music, who does not find grace in himself, she who does not find grace in herself, dies slowly.

I woke up with the warrior in my blood.

It’s in my genes. My mother was an opera singer. I’m clearly dramatic.

Negro blood is sure powerful, because just one drop of black blood makes a colored man. One drop–you are a Negro! . . . Black is powerful.

I am quite certain that the crimes of this guilty land will never be purged away but with blood. I had, as I now think vainly, flattered myself that without very much bloodshed it might be done.

Just as it demands blood, to meet bone, It’ll forever take something painful to understand pain.

Whose hearts must I break? What lies must I maintain? – Through whose blood am I to wade ?

Scenes of blood and cruelty are shocking to our ear and heart. What man has nerve to do, man has not nerve to hear.

The winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood.