Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.

What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up Like a raisin in the sun? Or does it explode?

We Negro writers, just by being black, have been on the blacklist all our lives. Censorship for us begins at the color line.

An artist must be free to choose what he does, certainly, but he must also never be afraid to do what he might choose.