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I have been in Sorrow's kitchen and licked out all the pots. Then I have stood on the peaky mountain wrapped in rainbows, with a harp and sword in my hands.

Zora Neale Hurston

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Zora Neale Hurston
Age: 69 †
Born: 1891
Born: January 7
Died: 1960
Died: January 28
Anthropologist
Civil Rights Advocate
Film Director
Folklorist
Historian
Journalist
Novelist
Playwright
Writer
Zora N. Hurston
Kitchen
Harp
Mountain
Pots
Sorrow
Harps
Hands
Sword
Wrapped
Pot
Rainbow
Licked
Stood
Rainbows

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It is hard to apply oneself to study when there is no money to pay for food and lodging. I almost never explain these things when folks are asking me why I don't do this or that.
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It was the meanest moment of eternity.
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To avoid the consequences of posterity the mulattos give the blacks a first class letting alone. There is a frantic stampede white-ward to escape from Jamaica's black mass.
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It must be recess in (heaven) if St. Peter is lettin his angels out.
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Bitterness is the coward's revenge on the world for having been hurt.
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It seemed to me that the human beings I met reacted pretty much the same to the same stimuli. Different idioms,yes. Circumstances and conditions having power to influence, yes. Inherent difference, no.
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...she woke up in time to see the sun sending up spies ahead of him to mark out the road through the dark. He peeped up over the door sill of the world and made a little foolishness with red.
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Like the dead-seeming, cold rocks, I have memories within that came out of the material that went to make me. Time and place have had their say.
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When Janie looked out of her door she saw the drifting mists gathered in the west -- that cloud field of the sky -- to arm themselves with thunders and march forth against the world. Louder and higher and lower and wider the sound and motion spread, mounting, sinking, darking.
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The Haitian people are gentle and lovable except for their enormous and unconscious cruelty.
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The sun had become a light yellow yolk and was walking with red legs across the sky.
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God took pattern after a pine tree and built you noble.
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Folklore is the boiled-down juice, or pot-likker, of human living.
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you can't beat me and my prayers!
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If you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.
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Among the thousand white persons, I am a dark rock surged upon, and overswept.
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When the people sat around on the porch and passed around the pictures of their thoughts for the others to look at and see, it was nice. The fact that the thought pictures were always crayon enlargements of life made it even nicer to listen to.
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It is a curious thing to be a woman in the Caribbean after you have been a woman in these United States.
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I hold that any religion that satisfies the individual urge is valid for that person.
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It's no use of talking unless people understand what you say.
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