How can a writer write about life if they are not living it?

I am not ashamed of my past. It is the only place where I can truly be who I am.

I am not tragically colored. There is no great sorrow dammed up in my soul, nor lurking behind my eyes. I do not belong to the sobbing school of Negrohood who hold that nature somehow has given them a lowdown dirty deal.

I feel most colored when I am thrown against a sharp white background.

The only way to deal with the world is to be yourself.

There are years that ask questions and years that answer.