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I got the Weary Blues And I can't be satisfied.

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
Blues
Weary
Satisfied
Literature

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7 x 7 + love = An amount Infinitely above: 7 x 7 - love.
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I look at my own body With eyes no longer blind- And I see that my own hands can make The world that's in my mind.
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I'm so tired of waiting, aren't you, for the world to become good and beautiful and kind?
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Summer was made to give you a taste of what hell is like. Winter was made for landladies to charge high rents and keep cold radiators and make a fortune off of poor tenants.
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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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I asked you, baby, If you understood- You told me that you didn't, But you thought you would.
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Never look for a worm in the apple of your eye.
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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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I am a Negro: Black as the night is black, Black like the depths of my Africa.
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The calm, Cool face of the river, Asked me for a kiss
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Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby.
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Teach us all to do right, Lord, please, and to get along together with that atom bomb on this earth because I do not want it to fall on me-nor Thee-nor anybody living. Amen!
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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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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.
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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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Harriet Tubman lived to see the harvest.
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I did not believe political directives could be successfully applied to creative writing . . . not to poetry or fiction, which to be valid had to express as truthfully as possible the individual emotions and reactions of the writer.
Langston Hughes
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Life is a big sea full of many fish. I let down my nets and pulled. I'm still pulling.
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Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear.
Langston Hughes