I must never write when I do not want to write.
My father hated Negroes.
The Jewish people and the Negro people both know the meaning of Nordic supremacy. We have both looked into the eyes of terror.
That’s the way it is with poetry: When it is incomprehensible it seems profound, and when you understand it, it is only ridiculous.
Violent anger makes me physically ill.
Beauty for some provides escape, who gain a happiness in eyeing the gorgeous buttocks of the ape or Autumn sunsets exquisitely dying.
Perhaps the mission of an artist is to interpret beauty to people – the beauty within themselves.
I live in Harlem, New York City. I am unmarried. I like ‘Tristan,’ goat’s milk, short novels, lyric poems, heat, simple folk, boats and bullfights; I dislike ‘Aida,’ parsnips, long novels, narrative poems, cold, pretentious folk, buses and bridges.
In all my life, I have never been free. I have never been able to do anything with freedom, except in the field of my writing.
Whatever the immediate gains and losses, the dangers to our safety arising from political suppression are always greater than the dangers to the safety resulting from political freedom. Suppression is always foolish. Freedom is always wise.