Quote

This morning I paid seventy cents for two little old dried-up slivers of bacon and one cockeyed egg. It took me till noon to get my appetite back.

Langston Hughes

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Langston Hughes
Age: 66 †
Born: 1901
Born: February 1
Died: 1967
Died: May 22
Biographer
Essayist
Journalist
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Joplin
Missouri
James Langston Hughes
James Mercer Langston Hughes
Littles
Appetite
Slivers
Back
Eggs
Cockeyed
Little
Till
Dried
Paid
Bacon
Eating
Seventy
Took
Noon
Morning
Seventies
Two
Cents

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Life for me ain't been no crystal stair
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There is no color line in death. I swear to the lord I still can't see Why Democracy means Everybody but me. O, yes, I say it plain, America never was America to me, And yet I swear this oath - America will be! I am the American heartbreak- The rock on which Freedom Stumped its toe.
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Life is an egg you have to be patient and careful with it or it will break.
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Money and art are far apart.
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Americans of good-will, the nice decent church people, the well-meaning liberals, the good hearted souls who themselves wouldn't lynch anyone, must begin to realize that they have to be more than passively good-hearted, more than church goingly Christian, and much more than word-of-mouth in the liberalism.
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Yet the ivory gods, And the ebony gods, And the gods of diamond-jade, Are only silly puppet gods That people themselves Have made.-
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I will not take but for an answer.
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The calm, Cool face of the river, Asked me for a kiss
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Go home and write / a page tonight. / And let that page come out of you - / Then, it will be true.
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Believing everything she read In the daily news, (No in-between to choose) She thought that only One side won, Not that BOTH Might lose.
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Like a welcome summer rain, humor may suddenly cleanse and cool the earth, the air and you.
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To create a market for your writing you have to be consistent, professional, a continuing writer - not just a one-article or a one-story or a one-book man.
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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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It is the duty of the younger Negro artist . . . to change through the force of his art that old whispering I want to be white, hidden in the aspirations of his people, to Why should I want to be white? I am a Negro - and beautiful!
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I am a Negro: Black as the night is black, Black like the depths of my Africa.
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Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.
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I do not want no pretty woman. First thing you know, you fall in love with her-then you got to kill somebody about her. She'll make you so jealous, you'll bust!
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