Langston Hughes Quotes

Certainly there is, for the American Negro artist who can escape the restrictions the more advanced among his own group would put upon him, a great field of unused material ready for his art.

Island

Wave of sorrow,
Do not drown me now:

I see the island
Still ahead somehow.

I see the island
And its sands are fair:

Wave of sorrow,
Take me there.

As I learn from you,
I guess you learn
From me
although
You're older
and white
And somewhat more free.

I live in Harlem, New York City. I am unmarried. I like 'Tristan,' goat's milk, short novels, lyric poems, heat, simple folk, boats and bullfights; I dislike 'Aida,' parsnips, long novels, narrative poems, cold, pretentious folk, buses and bridges.

My personal experience has been that in my 25 years of writing, I have not been asked to do more than four or five commercial one-shot scripts. These were performed on major national hook-ups but produced for me no immediate additional jobs or requests. One script for BBC was done around the world with an all-star cast.

Even the 'Negro' shows like 'Amos and Andy' and 'Beulah' are written largely by white writers - the better to preserve the stereotypes, I imagine.

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?

Reach Up Your Hand ... and take a star.

THEY WERE PEOPLE who went in for Negroes - Michael and Anne - the Carraways. But not in the social-service, philanthropic sort of way, no. They saw no use in helping a race that was already too charming and naive and lovely for words. Leave them unspoiled and just enjoy them, Michael and Anne felt. So they went in for the Art of Negroes - the dancing that had such jungle life about it, the songs that were so simple and fervent, the poetry that was so direct, so real. They never tried to influence that art, they only bought it and raved over it, and copied it. For they were artists, too.

I have discovered in life that there are ways of getting almost anywhere you want to go, if you really want to go.

I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn't, So I jumped in and sank.

Hang yourself, poet, in your own words.
Otherwise, you are dead.

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.

The sea is a desert of waves,
A wilderness of water.

Let the rain sing you a lullaby.

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, ...

Gather quickly
Out of darkness
All the songs you know
And throw them at the sun
Before they melt
Like snow.

Life dosent frighten me at all.

I am so tired of waiting.
Aren't you,
for the world to become good
and beautiful and kind?
Let us take a knife
and cut the world in two
and see what worms are eating
at the rind.

Gather up In the arms of your love - Those who expect No love from above.

As I Grew Older"

It was a long time ago.
I have almost forgotten my dream.
But it was there then,
In front of me,
Bright like a sun -
My dream.
And then the wall rose,
Rose slowly,
Slowly,
Between me and my dream.
Rose until it touched the sky -
The wall.
Shadow.
I am black.
I lie down in the shadow.
No longer the light of my dream before me,
Above me.
Only the thick wall.
Only the shadow.
My hands!
My dark hands!
Break through the wall!
Find my dream!
Help me to shatter this darkness,
To smash this night,
To break this shadow
Into a thousand lights of sun,
Into a thousand whirling dreams
Of sun!

Folks, I'm telling you, birthing is hard and dying is mean- so get yourself a little loving in between.

Freedom
Is a strong seed
Planted
In a great need.
I live here, too.
I want freedom
Just as you.

How still,
How strangely still
The water is today,
It is not good
For water
To be so still that way.

~ "Sea Calm

Wear it Like a banner For the proud? Not like a shroud.

Gather out of star-dust, Earth-dust, Cloud-dust, Storm-dust, And splinters of hail, One handful of dream-dust, Not for sale.

When a man starts out to build a world,
He starts first with himself

You see, books had been happening to me.

I will take your heart.
I will take your soul out of your body
As though I were God.
I will not be satisfied
With the little words you say to me.
I will not be satisfied
With the touch of your hand
Nor the sweet of your lips alone.
I will take your heart for mine.
I will take your soul.
I will be God when it comes to you.

Go home and write / a page tonight. / And let that page come out of you - / Then, it will be true.

I am a Negro: Black as the night is black, Black like the depths of my Africa.

Hold fast to dreams,
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird,
That cannot fly.

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death, The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies, We, the people, must redeem The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers. The mountains and the endless plain
All, all the stretch of these great green states
And make America again!

As much as they loved Negroes, Neroes didn't seem to love Michael and Anne.

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

Very early in life, it seemed to me that there was a relationship between the problems of the Negro people in America and the Jewish people in Russia, and that the Jewish people's problems were worse than ours.

The calm, Cool face of the river, Asked me for a kiss

There's a certain amount of traveling in a dream deferred.

Hold onto your dreams

One of the great difficulties about being a member of a minority race is that so many kindhearted, well-meaning bores gather around to help.

Beauty for some provides escape, who gain a happiness in eyeing the gorgeous buttocks of the ape or Autumn sunsets exquisitely dying.

I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.
Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed
I, too, am America.

Most musicians remain poor. But the music that they make, even if it does not bring them millions, gives millions of people happiness.

Everything there is but lovin' leaves a rust on your old soul

LIBERTY!
FREEDOM!
DEMOCRACY!
True anyhow no matter how many
Liars use those words.

I loved my friend
He went away from me
There's nothing more to say
The poem ends,
Soft as it began-
I loved my friend.

Militant
Let all who will
Eat quietly the bread of shame.
I cannot,
Without complaining loud and long,
Tasting its bitterness in my throat
And feeling to my very soul
It's wrong.
For honest work
You proffer me poor pay,
For honest dreams
Your spit is in my face,
And so my fist is clenched
Today
To strike your face.

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

Through my grandmother's stories always life moved, moved heroically toward an end. Nobody ever cried in my grandmother's stories. They worked, or schemed, or fought. But no crying. When my grandmother died, I didn't cry, either. Something about my grandmother's stories (without her ever having said so) taught me the uselessness of crying about anything.

Though you may hear me holler, And you may see me cry
I'll be dogged, sweet baby, If you gonna see me die.

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.

The lazy, laughing South
With blood on its mouth.
The sunny-faced South,
Beast-strong,
Idiot-brained.
The child-minded South
Scratching in the dead fire's ashes
For a Negro's bones.
Cotton and the moon,
Warmth, earth, warmth,
The sky, the sun, the stars,
The magnolia-scented South.
Beautiful, like a woman,
Seductive as a dark-eyed whore,
Passionate, cruel,
Honey-lipped, syphilitic -
That is the South.
And I, who am black, would love her
But she spits in my face.
And I, who am black,
Would give her many rare gifts
But she turns her back upon me.
So now I seek the North -
The cold-faced North,
For she, they say,
Is a kinder mistress,
And in her house my children
May escape the spell of the South.

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.

You and I
By Henry Alford
My hand is lonely for your clasping, dear;
My ear is tired waiting for your call.
I want your strength to help, your laugh to cheer;
Heart, soul and senses need you, one and all.
I droop without your full, frank sympathy;
We ought to be together - you and I;
We want each other so, to comprehend
The dream, the hope, things planned, or seen, or wrought.
Companion, comforter and guide and friend,
As much as love asks love, does thought ask thought.
Life is so short, so fast the lone hours fly,
We ought to be together, you and I.

We Negro writers, just by being black, have been on the blacklist all our lives. Censorship for us begins at the color line.

Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.

Your explanation depresses me," I said.
"Your nonsense depresses me," said Simple.

Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear.

Everybody should take each other as they are, white, black, Indians, Creole. Then there would be no prejudice, nations would get along.

Good morning, Revolution: You're the very best friend I ever had. We gonna pal around together from now on

Writing is like travelling. It's wonderful to go somewhere, but you get tired of staying.

Joe has sense enough to know
He is a god.
So many gods don't know.

I will not take 'but' for an answer.

Down Where I Am
Too many years
Beatin' at the door
I done beat my
Both fists sore.
Too many years
Tryin' to get up there
Done broke my ankles down,
Got nowhere.
Too many years
Climbin' that hill,
'Bout out of breath.
I got my fill.
I'm gonna plant my feet
On solid ground.
If you want to see me,
Come down.

Words Like Freedom
There are words like Freedom
Sweet and wonderful to say.
On my heartstrings freedom sings
All day everyday.
There are words like Liberty
That almost make me cry.
If you had known what I know
You would know why.

Harriet Tubman lived to see the harvest.

It's such a Bore Being always Poor.

The speaker catches fire
looking at their faces.
His words
jump down to stand
in listener's places.

Oppression
Now dreams
Are not available
To the dreamers,
Nor songs
To the singers.
In some lands
Dark night
And cold steel
Prevail
But the dream
Will come back,
And the song
Break
Its jail.

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

As long as what is is-and Georgia is Georgia-I will take Harlem for mine. At least, if trouble comes, I will have my own window to shoot from.

Color
Wear it
Like a banner
For the proud
Not like a shroud.
Wear it
Like a song
Soaring high
Not moan or cry.

The prerequisite for writing is having something to say.

Life Is Fine"

I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.

I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.

But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!

I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.

I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.

But it was High up there! It was high!

So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love--
But for livin' I was born

Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry--
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.

Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!

They rung my bell to ask me.
Could I recommend a maid.
I said, yes, your momma.

Whiskey just naturally likes me but beer likes me better.

I got the Weary Blues And I can't be satisfied.

I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen when company comes, but I laugh, and eat well, and grow strong.

Lawrence has a wonderful hill in it, with a university on top and the first time I ran away from home, I ran up the hill and looked across the world: Kansas wheat fields and the Kaw River, and I wanted to go some place, too. I got a whipping for it.

Life is a big sea full of many fish. I let down my nets and pulled. I'm still pulling.

It has seemed to me that most people are generally good, in every race and in every country where I have been.

Good people are not that good. To tell the truth, if I were white, no matter how much I loved Negroes, I doubt that I would submit myself to Jim Crow living conditions just to prove my love." "Neither would I," said Simple. "Then you would not be very good, either." "No," said Simple, "but I would be white.

What happens to a dream deferred?

I will not take 'but' for an answer. Negroes have been looking at democracy's 'but' too long.

I stuck my head out the window this morning and spring kissed me bang in the face.

She did not like bigots or brilliant bores or academicians who wore their honors, or scholars who wore their doctorates, like dogtags. But she had an infinite capacity to love peasants and children and great but simple causes across the board and a grace in giving that was itself gratitude and she had a body like sculpture in the thinnest of wire and a face made of a million mosaics in a gauze-web of cubes lighter than air and a piñata of a heart in the center of a mobile at fiesta time with bits of her soul swirling in the breeze in honor of life and love and Good Morning to you, Bon Jour, Muy Buenos, Muy Buenos! Muy Buenos!

On Nancy Cunard

Question and Answer
Durban, Birmingham,
Cape Town, Alabama,
Johannesburg, Watts,
The earth around
Struggling, fighting,
Dying
for what?
A world to gain.
Groping, hoping,
Waiting
for what?
A world to gain.
Dreams kicked asunder,
Why not go under?
There's a world to gain.
But suppose I don't want it,
Why take it?
To remake it.

I swear to the Lord,I still can't see,Why Democracy means,Everybody but me.

These feet have walked ten thousand miles working for white folks and another ten thousand keeping up with colored.

While over Alabama earth These words are gently spoken: Serve and hate will die unborn. Love and chains are broken.

Jazz, to me, is one of the inherent expressions of Negro life in America: the eternal tom-tom beating in the Negro soul - the tom-tom of revolt against weariness in a white world, a world of subway trains, and work, work, work; the tom-tom of joy and laughter, and pain swallowed in a smile.

My father hated Negroes.

Hard as I try, daddy-o, I really do not like concert singers. They are always singing in some foreign language.

Oh, God of Dust and Rainbows, Help us to see That without the dust the rainbow Would not be.

For my best poems were all written when I felt the worst. When I was happy, I didn't write anything.

I stay cool, and dig all jive,
That's the way I stay alive.
My motto,
as I live and learn,
is
Dig and be dug
In return.

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.

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.

Misery is when you heard on the radio that the neighborhood you live in is a slum but you always thought it was home.

I don't dare start thinking in the morning. I don't dare start thinking in the morning. If I thought thoughts in bed, Them thoughts would bust my head
So I don't dare start thinking in the morning.