I sang in art school, just to get money to smoke.
Some colored people so scared of whitefolks they claim to love the cotton gin.
People who work hard often work too hard. . . . May we learn to honor the hammock, the siesta, the nap and the pause in all its forms.
Activism is my rent for living on the planet.
Nobody is as powerful as we make them out to be.
Any God I ever found in church, I brought in myself.
It has become a common feeling, I believe, as we have watched our heroes falling over the years, that our own small stone of activism, which might not seem to measure up to the rugged boulders of heroism we have so admired, is a paltry offering toward the building of an edifice of hope. Many who believe this choose to withhold their offerings out of shame. This is the tragedy of the world. For we can do nothing substantial toward changing our course on the planet, a destructive one, without rousing ourselves, individual by individual, and bringing our small, imperfect stones to the pile.
Give us this day our daily taste. Restore to us soups that spoons will not sink in and sauces which are never the same twice. Raise up among us stews with more gravy than we have bread to blot it with. . . Give us pasta with a hundred fillings.
Find your authentic voice, become vulnerable, and then put yourself out there.
A single bad habit will mar an otherwise faultless character, as an ink-drop soileth the pure white page.
I've just really been into melody and lyrics and songwriting. Writing a rap, to me, is easy. I could write a rap like that. But writing songs and melodies and s**t that's hopefully going to stick around for 30, 40 years is f**king hard. . . If you have good songs and you're talented, people will eventually come to your shows, people will buy your music.