Community means people spending time together here, and I don’t think there’s really that.
Here is the difference between Dante, Milton, and me. They wrote about hell and never saw the place. I wrote about Chicago after looking the town over for years and years.
It may sound funny, but I love the South. I don’t choose to live anywhere else. There’s land here, where a man can raise cattle, and I’m going to do it some day.
I really have a distaste for poets who announce themselves at 50 yards; you know, here he comes, you know, with the beret and the cane and the cape and the whatever – whatever mishegas is part of the outfit there.
Here dead lie we because we did not choose to live and shame the land from which we sprung. Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose; but young men think it is, and we were young.
I’m interested in helping secure the PC – we need innovation here. It’s not just hug your PC, hate the iPhone. In fact I don’t even hate the iPhone; I think it’s really cool. I just don’t want it to be the center of the ecosystem along with the Web 2.0 apps.
The Negro has been here in America since 1619, a total of 344 years. He is not going anywhere else; this country is his home. He wants to do his part to help make his city, state, and nation a better place for everyone, regardless of color and race.
Though my conduct on the 10th of August 1792 was the act of my life of which I have most reason to be proud, I will here merely do homage to the worthy martyrs of the national sovereignty and the sworn laws, who, while they supported constitutional royalty, manifested the highest degree of republican virtue.
No man is truly educated unless he knows where he came from, why he is here, and where he can expect to go in the next life.
It is not enough for me to ask question; I want to know how to answer the one question that seems to encompass everything I face: What am I here for?