Quotes from Langston Hughes

Peace We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark They could not see Who had gained The victory.

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.

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. Then let us hurry, comrades, The road to find.

Poetry is the human soul entire Squeezed like a lemon or a lime, Drop by drop into atomic words".

The prerequisite for writing is having something to say.

Tell all my mourners To mourn in red- Cause there ain't no sense In my bein' dead.

But was that why Negroes were poor, because they were dancers, jazzers, clowns? . . . The other way round would be better: dancers because of their poverty; singers because they suffered; laughing all the time because they must forget.... It's more like that, thought Sandy.

Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby. The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk. The rain makes running pools in the gutter. The rain plays a little sleep-song on our roof at night– And I love the rain.

The spring is not so beautiful there– But dream ships sail away To where the spring is wondrous rare And life is gay. The spring is not so beautiful there– But lads put out to sea Who carry beauties in their hearts And dreams, like me.

She, In the dark, Found light Brighter than many ever see. She, Within herself, Found loveliness, Through the soul's own mastery. And now the world receives From her dower: The message of the strength Of inner power.

Just because I loves you– That's de reason why Ma soul is full of color Like de wings of a butterfly. Just because I loves you That's de reason why Ma heart's a fluttering aspen leaf When you pass by.

because shoes got by devilish ways will burn your feet.

2 and 2 are 4. 4 and 4 are 8. But what would happen If the last 4 was late? And how would it be If one 2 was me? Or if the first 4 was you Divided by 2?

When peoples cry for you, they can straighten out your soul.

Just what is a liberal?" asked Simple. "Well, as nearly as I can tell, a liberal is a nice man who acts decently toward people, talks democratically, and often is democratic in his personal life, but does not stand up very well in action when some real social issue like Jim Crow comes up.

Even to an outsider like myself, not only in the theatre was such disunity evident, but in much else in government Spain. Alvarez del Vayo, Socialist Minister of Foreign Affairs, once asked, "Why is it Spain's people are so great, but her leaders so small?

Around the world-even in places where there is almost nothing, the rich, the beautiful, the talented, or the very clever can always get something; in fact, the best of whatever there is.

This, the dream and the dreamer, wandering in the desert from Hopkinsville to Vienna in love with a streetwalker named Music.…

The black women of America have as much right to all rights as white women have, without putting on any foreign robes to get them. I love Africa, but I was born in Florida, U.S.A., America. Of my African blood I am proud, but I want American rights. Of my black face I have no shame, therefore I have the right to want the right to show my face anyplace in America any other folks show their face.

I learnt that the only way to get a thing done is to start to do it, then keep on doing it, and finally you'll finish it, even if in the beginning you think you can't do it at all. 

Don't you believe in nonviolence?' I asked. "'Yes,' said Miss Minnie, 'when the other parties are nonviolent, too. But when I have just come out of a funeral parlor from looking at a little small black boy shot three times by a full-grown cop, I think it is about time I raised my pocketbook and strike at least one blow for freedom.

Quiet Girl" I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams Were it not for your songs.

No," said Oceola simply. "This is mine. . . . Listen! . . . How sad and gay it is. Blue and happy -- laughing and crying. . . . How white like you and black like me. . . . How much like a man. . . . And how much like a woman. . . . Warm as Pete's mouth. . . . These are the blues. . . . I'm playing.

Then it was that books began to happen to me, and I began to believe in nothing but books and the wonderful world in books where if people suffered, they suffered in beautiful language, not in monosyllables, as we did in Kansas.