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

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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Could Death Emotion Mode Must Penalty Place Sad Said Way
Goddamnit, look! We live here and they live there.
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Black Goddamnit Jail Life White
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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The artist must bow to the monster of his own imagination.
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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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Blind Force Know Pawn Play Powerless Social
The more closely the author thinks of why he wrote, the more he comes to regard his imagination as a kind of self-generating cement which glued his facts together, and his emotions as a kind of dark and obscure designer of those facts.
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Author Book Closely Come Dark Emotion Fact Imagination Kind More Regard Think Writing Wrote
If you’ve a notion of what man’s heart is, wouldn’t you say that maybe the whole effort of man on earth to build a civilization is simply man’s frantic and frightened attempt to hide himself from himself?
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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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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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Dead Know might Something Southern Switch Track Wrong
I could endure the hunger. I had learned to live with hate.
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I didn’t know I was really alive in this world until I felt things hard enough to kill for ’em.
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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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Reluctantly, he comes to the conclusion that to account for his book is to account for his life.
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It would have been impossible for me to have told anyone what I derived from these novels, for it was nothing less than a sense of life itself.
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Men can starve from a lack of self-realization as much as they can from a lack of bread.
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What could I dream of that had the barest possibility of coming true?
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