Television has become a vast electronic desert dotted only by a tiny, occasional oasis.
Birmingham lighted a runaway fuse, and as fast as the headlines could record them, demonstrations exploded all over the country
He had a posture like a question mark.
Her prose is like a well-tended garden.
Give us this day our daily bread.
I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweat.
Capital has learned to sit down and talk with labor.
If we don't hang together, we'll hang separately.
Your argument is sound, nothing but sound.
Elvis Presley sideburns.
She may not have been a Penelope.
They do not escape Jim Crow; they merely encounter another, not less deadly variety.
The ground thirsts for rain.
Mother Tongue is a self-reliant female.
. . . the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window panes.
Her eloquence splits rocks.
I can't move: my left leg weighs three tons.
Last week I saw a woman flayed, and you will hardly believe how much it altered her appearance.
It isn't very serious. I have this tiny, little tumor on the brain.
How can the poor feel they have a stake in a system which says that the rich may have due process but the poor may not?
By spring, if God was good, all the proud privileges of trench lice, mustard gas, spattered brains, punctured lungs, ripped guts, asphyxiation, mud, and gangrene, might be his.
Strong gongs groaning as the guns boom far.
My days have crackled and gone up in smoke.
idle trade, sweet pain of love, thunderous silence, make haste slowly, luxurious poverty, cold fire