W.E.B. Du Bois: “O Freedom, O Freedom, O Freedom over me; Before I'll be a slave, I'll be buried in my grave, And go home to my God, And…”

One ever feels his twoness,—an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.

I had thereafter no desire to tear down that veil, to creep through; I held all beyond it in common contempt, and lived above it in a region of blue sky and great wandering shadows.

A million black men started with renewed zeal to vote themselves into the kingdom.

To be a poor man is hard, but to be a poor race in a land of dollars is the very bottom of hardships.