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J. California Cooper Biography

J. California Cooper

Joan Cooper (November 10, 1931, Berkeley, California – September 20, 2014, Seattle, Washington), known by her pen name, J. California Cooper, was an American playwright and author. She wrote 17 plays and was named Black Playwright of the Year in 1978 for her play Strangers.

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J. California Cooper Quotes

Listen at me. The end is almost never far off any time at all!

Ends, Time, Listen

I was telling stories before I could write. I like to tell stories, and I like to talk to things. If you]ve read fairy tales, you know that everything can talk,from trees to chairs to tables to brooms. So I grew up thinking that, and I turned it into stories.

Brooms, Tables, Tales, Thinking, Tree, Writing

I see so many fools in this world that sometimes I could just go home and cry about what people do to themselves Hey, wake up, wake up, look here! Think a minute, think a minute. This is your life! You got, what, ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, sixty years here, and you gonna be gone. '

Home, Thinking, Years, Sixty, Fools

It's always something to remind you that everything ain't never gonna be alright!

Trouble, Alright, Gonna, Everything, Remind

All my family, my blood, is mixed up now. They don't even all know each other. I just hope they don't never hate or fight each other, not knowin who they are. Cause all these people livin are brothers and sisters and cousins. All these beautiful different colors! We!. . . We the human Family. God says so! FAMILY!

Beautiful, Family, God, Human, Sister, Sisters

Some people don't even recognize real love when it comes without being called or sought.

Real, Real Love, People, Sought, Recognize

Sometimes it's a struggle to get over self-love first. Sometimes in this struggle for love, we give up, or lose everything, and we still don't achieve love. Some people don't even recognize real love when it comes without being called or sought.

Giving Up, Real, Struggle, Give, People, Sought

Them white people made hate. They made hate just like they had a formula for it and followed that formula down to the last exact gallon of misery put in. Well. . . that's what they made and that's what they got.

Hate, White, Racism, Gallon, Misery

Love entered in my heart one dayA sad, unwelcome guest. But when it begged that it might stayI let it stay and restIt broke my nights with sorrowingIt filled my heart with fearsAnd, when my soul was prone to sing,It filled my eyes with tears. But. . . now that it has gone its way,I miss the dear ole pain. And, sometimes, in the night I prayThat Love might come again.

Pain, Eye, Heart, Filled, Entered

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