Let America Be America, Where

I Felt Very Bad In Washington. . . I Didn't Like My Job, And I Didn't Know What Was Going To Happen To Me, And I Was Cold And Half-hungry, So I Wrote A Great Many Poems.

A World I Dream Where Black Or White, Whatever Race You Be, Will Share The Bounties Of The Earth And Every Man Is Free.

Life Is For The Living. Death Is For The Dead. Let Life Be Like Music. And Death A Note Unsaid.

An Artist Must Be Free To Choose What He Does, Certainly, But He Must Also Never Be Afraid To Do What He Might Choose.

Summer Was Made To Give You A Taste Of What Hell Is Like. Winter Was Made For Landladies To Charge High Rents And Keep Cold Radiators And Make A Fortune Off Of Poor Tenants.