By Stretching Language We'll Distort

Added To The Moral Solitude Of The Murderer Comes The Solitude Of The Artist, Which Can Acknowledge No Authority, Save That Of Another Artist.

What I Did Not Yet Know So Intensely Was The Hatred Of The White American For The Black, A Hatred So Deep That I Wonder If Every White Man In This Country, When He Plants A Tree, Doesn't See Negroes Hanging From Its Branches.

The Fame Of Heroes Owes Little To The Extent Of Their Conquests And All To The Success Of The Tributes Paid To Them.

Anyone Who's Never Experienced The Pleasure Of Betrayal Doesn't Know What Pleasure Is.

If We Behave Like Those On The Other Side, Then We Are The Other Side. Instead Of Changing The World, All We'll Achieve Is A Reflection Of The One We Want To Destroy.