W.E.B. Du Bois: “Every laboratory door is closed and no endowments are available.”

The first decade was merely a prolongation of the vain search for freedom, the boon that seemed ever barely to elude their grasp,—like a tantalizing will-o’-the-wisp, maddening and misleading the headless host.

All this segregation by color is largely independent of that natural clustering by social grades common to all communities.

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

And yet, being a problem is a strange experience,—peculiar even for one who has never been anything else, save perhaps in babyhood and in Europe.