I Suspect That All The Agony That

Whence All This Passion Toward Conformity Anyway? – Diversity Is The Word. Let Man Keep His Many Parts And You'll Have No Tyrant States . Why, If They Follow This Conformity Business They'll End Up By Forcing Me, An Invisible Man, To Become White, Which Is Not A Color But The Lack Of One. Must I Strive Toward Colorlessness? But Seriously, And Without Snobbery, Think Of What The World Would Lose If That Should Happen. America Is Woven Of Many Strands. I Would Recognize Them And Let It So Remain.

There Must Be Possible A Fiction Which, Leaving Sociology And Case Histories To The Scientists, Can Arrive At The Truth About The Human Condition, Here And Now, With All The Bright Magic Of The Fairy Tale.

Light Confirms My Reality, Gives Birth To My Form...without Light I Am Not Only Invisible But Formless As Well; And To Be Unaware Of One's Form Is To Live A Death...the Truth Is The Light And Light Is The Truth.

The Blues Is An Impulse To Keep The Painful Details And Episodes Of A Brutal Experience Alive In One's Aching Consciousness, To Finger Its Jagged Grain, And To Transcend It, Not By The Consolation Of Philosophy But By Squeezing From It A Near-tragic, Near-comic Lyricism. As A Form, The Blues Is An Autobiographical Chronicle Of Personal Catastrophe Expressed Lyrically.

It Takes A Deep Commitment To Change And An Even Deeper Commitment To Grow.