Hold Out Your Hands To Feel The

I Have Often Been Asked, Do Not People Bore You? I Do Not Understand Quite What That Means. I Suppose The Calls Of The Stupid And Curious, Especially Of Newspaper Reporters, Are Always Inopportune. I Also Dislike People Who Try To Talk Down To My Understanding. They Are Like People Who When Walking With You Try To Shorten Their Steps To Suit Yours; The Hypocrisy In Both Cases Is Equally Exasperating.

Defeat Is Simply A Signal To Press Onward.

We The Living, Should Not Think Of The Dead As Lonely Because If They Could Speak To Us, They Would Say: "do Not Weep For Me, Earth Was Not My True Country, I Was An Alien There: I Am At Home Where Everyone Comes."

I Demand That The World Be Good, And Lo, It Obeys. I Proclaim The World Good, And Facts Range Themselves To Prove My Proclamation Overwhelmingly True. To What Good I Open The Doors Of My Being, And Jealously Shut Them Against What Is Bad. Such Is The Force Of This Beautiful And Willful Conviction, It Carries Itself In The Face Of All Opposition. I Am Never Discouraged By Absence Of Good. I Never Can Be Argued Into Hopelessness. Doubt And Mistrust Are The Mere Panic Of Timid Imagination, Which The Steadfast Heart Will Conquer, And The Large Mind Transcend.

The Continued Lynchings And Other Crimes Against Negroes, Whether In New England Or The South, And Unspeakable Political Exponents Of White Supremacy, According To All Recorded History, Augur Ill For America's Future.