W.E.B. Du Bois: “Ever the winds sigh and drop into those sun-swept silences.”

But they should not keep these prizes, I said; some, all, I would wrest from them.

The direct result of this system is an all-cotton scheme of agriculture and the continued bankruptcy of the tenant.

Away with the black man’s ballot, by force or fraud,—and behold the suicide of a race!

It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity.