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My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
Langston Hughes
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Langston Hughes
Age: 66 †
Born: 1901
Born: February 1
Died: 1967
Died: May 22
Biographer
Essayist
Journalist
Novelist
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Poet
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Joplin
Missouri
James Langston Hughes
James Mercer Langston Hughes
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More quotes by Langston Hughes
Keep your hand on the plow. Hold on.
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Misery is when you heard on the radio that the neighborhood you live in is a slum but you always thought it was home.
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We Negro writers, just by being black, have been on the blacklist all our lives. Censorship for us begins at the color line.
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I felt very bad in Washington. . . I didn't like my job, and I didn't know what was going to happen to me, and I was cold and half-hungry, so I wrote a great many poems.
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For my best poems were all written when I felt the worst. When I was happy, I didn't write anything.
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Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death, The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies, We, the people, must redeem The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers. The mountains and the endless plain-- All, all the stretch of these great green states-- And make America again!
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Good morning, Revolution: You're the very best friend I ever had. We gonna pal around together from now on
Langston Hughes
Life is a big sea full of many fish. I let down my nets and pulled. I'm still pulling.
Langston Hughes
I am the American heartbreak- The rock on which Freedom Stumped its toe.
Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore-- And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over-- like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode?
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Well, when Christ comes back this time, I hope He comes back mad His own self. I hope He drives the Jim Crowers out of their high places, every living last one of them from Washington to Texas.
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LIBERTY! FREEDOM! DEMOCRACY! True anyhow no matter how many Liars use those words.
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What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? ... Or does it explode?
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There is no color line in art.
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Life for me ain't been no crystal stair
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I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn't, So I jumped in and sank.
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A world I dream where black or white, Whatever race you be, Will share the bounties of the Earth And every man is free.
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I asked you, baby, If you understood- You told me that you didn't, But you thought you would.
Langston Hughes
I loved my friend He went away from me There's nothing more to say The poem ends, Soft as it began- I loved my friend.
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This is the mountain standing in the way of any true Negro art in America - this urge within the race toward whiteness, the desire to pour racial individuality into the mold of American standardization, and to be as little Negro and as much American as possible.
Langston Hughes
