Quotes by Langston Hughes

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Langston Hughes (February 1, 1902 May 22, 1967) was an American poet, novelist, playwright, and newspaper columnist. more

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Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken winged bird that cannot fly.

Humor is laughing at what you haven't got when you ought to have it.
No woman can be handsome by the force of features alone, any more that she can be witty by only the help of speech.
I swear to the Lord, I still can't see, why Democracy means, everybody but me.
What happens to a dream deferred?Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy lead. Or does it explode?
Listen, Christ,You did alright in your day, I reckonBut that days gone now. They ghosted you up a swell story, too,Called it BibleBut its dead now. The popes and the preachersveMade too much money from it. Theyve sold you too manyKings, generals, robbers, and killersEven to the Czar and the Cossacks,Even to Rockefellers church,Even to THE SATURDAY EVENING POST. You aint no good no more. Theyve pawned youTill youve done wore out. Goodbye,Christ Jesus Lord God Jehova,Beat it on away from here now. Make way for a new guy with no religion at allA real guy namedMarx Communist Lenin Peasant Stalin Worker MEI said, ME!Go Ahead on now,Youre getting in the way of things, Lord. And please take Saint Ghandi [sic] with you when you go,And Saint Pope Pius,And Saint Aimee McPherson,And big black Saint BectonOf the Consecrated Dime. And step on the gas, Christ!Move!Dont be so slow about movin!The world is mine from now onAnd nobodys gonna sell METo a king, or a general,Or a millionaire.
Now listen, white folks! In line with Reverend King down in Montgomery-- Also because the Bible says I must-- I'm gonna love you--yes, I will! or BUST!
Oh, my dark children, may my dreams and my prayers Impel you forever up the great stairs--For I will be with you till no white brother Dares keep down the children of the Negro mother.
Now we spread roses Over your tomb-- We who sent you To your doom.
When the gales of coming winter outside your window howl, When the air is sharp and cheery so it drives away your scowl, When one's appetite craves turkey and will have no other fowl, It's Thanksgiving time!
When you turn the corner / And you run into yourself / Then you know that you have turned / All the corners that are left.
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red-- Cause there ain't no sense In my bein' dead.