The calm, cool face of the river asked me for a kiss.

Money and art are far apart.

Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow.

The section of the niggers where a nickel costs a dime.

Humor is laughing at what you haven11 got when you ought to have it.

When poems stop talking about the moon and begin to mention poverty, trade unions, color, color lines and colonies, somebody tells the police.

This morning I paid seventy cents for two little old dried-up slivers of bacon and one cockeyed egg. It took me till noon to get my appetite back.

Don't come giving me, who's old enough to die and too near blind to create anything any more anyhow, a great big banquet that you eat up in honor of your own stomachs as much as in honor of me- who's toothless and can't eat.

Melting pot Harlem-Harlem of honey and chocolate and caramel and rum and vinegar and lemon and lime and gall. Dusky dream Harlem rumbling into a nightmare tunnel where the subway from the Bronx keeps right on downtown.

Nobody can keep spring out of Harlem. I stuck my head out the window this morning and spring kissed me bang in the face.