My grandmothers are full of memories, smelling of soap and onions and wet clay, with veins rolling roughly over quick hands, they have many clean words to say, my grandmothers were strong.
Let a new earth rise. Let another world be born. Let a bloody peace be written in the sky. Let a second generation full of courage issue forth; let a people loving freedom come to growth.
When I was about eight, I decided that the most wonderful thing, next to a human being, was a book.
Friends and good manners will carry you where money won’t go.
I want my careless song to strike no minor key; no fiend to stand between my body’s Southern song – the fusion of the South, my body’s song and me.
The Word of fire burns today On the lips of our prophets in an evil age.