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I was taking a part of the South to transplant in alien soil, to see if it could grow differently, if it could drink of new and cool rains, bend in strange winds, respond to the warmth of other suns and, perhaps, to bloom

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Reading was like a drug, a dope. The novels created moods in which I lived for days.
RICHARD WRIGHT

Day Dope Drug Love Reading
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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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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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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The holy and the evil, the high and the low, the white and the black; our America is frightened of fact, of history, of processes, of necessity.
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We had our own literature, our own systems of law, religion, medicine, science, and education.
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Education Literature Medicine Own Religion Science System
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.
RICHARD WRIGHT

Brass Bronze exchange Fashion Granite Made Medium Silver Utensil
The spirit I had caught gave me insight into the suffering of others, made me gravitate toward those whose feelings were like my own, made me sit for hours while others told me of their lives, made me strangely tender and cruel, violent and peaceful.
RICHARD WRIGHT

Gratitude Hour Like Live Made Peacefully Spirit Suffer Tender Violent
Men can starve from a lack of self-realization as much as they can from a lack of bread.
RICHARD WRIGHT

Integrity Men Realization Self Strive
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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Another Back Before Talk Chance Kill Moment Myself Save Turn
We black and they white. They got things and we ain’t. They do things and we can’t. It’s just like livin’ in jail.
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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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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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All literature is protest.
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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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And they do not know why; they are powerless pawns in a blind play of social forces.
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