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Folklore is the boiled-down juice, or pot-likker, of human living.
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
Living
Human
Humans
Folklore
Boiled
Juice
Pot
Myth
More quotes by Zora Neale Hurston
You got to go there to know there.
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I feel most colored when I am thrown against a sharp white background.
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It seems like the first law of Nature is that everybody likes to receive things, but nobody likes to feel grateful.
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Grab the broom of anger and drive off the beast of fear.
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I belong to no race nor time. I am the eternal feminine with its string of beads.
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Night came walking through Egypt swishing her black dress.
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I have the nerve to walk my own way, however hard, in my search for reality, rather than climb upon the rattling wagon of wishful illusions.
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But as de old folk always say, Ah'm born but Ah ain't dead. No tellin' whut Ah'm liable tuh do yet.
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You'se something tuh make uh man forgit to git old and forgit tuh die.
Zora Neale Hurston
So she sat on the porch and watched the moon rise. Soon its amber fluid was drenching the earth, and quenching the thirst of the day.
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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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She knew now that marriage did not make love. Janie’s first dream was dead, so she became a woman.
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Janie looked down on him and felt a self-crushing love. So her soul crawled out from its hiding place.
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I am colored but I offer nothing in the way of extenuating circumstances except the fact that I am the only Negro in the United States whose grandfather on the mother's side was not an Indian chief.
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There is something about poverty that smells like death. Dead dreams dropping off the heart like leaves in a dry season and rotting around the feet impulses smothered too long in the fetid air of underground caves. The soul lives in sickly air. People can be slaveships in shoes.
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For four hundred years the blacks of Haiti had yearned for peace. for three hundred years the island was spoken of as a paradise of riches and pleasures, but that was in reference to the whites to whom the spirit of the land gave welcome. Haiti has meant split blood and tears for blacks.
Zora Neale Hurston
There is something about poverty that smells like death.
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If it was so honorable and glorious to be black, why was it the yellow-skinned people among us had so much prestige?
Zora Neale Hurston
She stood there until something fell off the shelf inside her. Then she went inside there to see what it was. It was her image of Jody tumbled down and shattered. But looking at it she saw that it never was the flesh and blood figure of her dreams. Just something she had grabbed up to drape her dreams over.
Zora Neale Hurston
Look lak she been livin' through uh hundred years in January without one day of spring.
Zora Neale Hurston
