Quotes from Countee Cullen

There is no secret to success except hard work and getting something indefinable which we call 'the breaks.' In order for a writer to succeed, I suggest three things - read and write - and wait.

So in the dark we hide the heart that bleeds, And wait, and tend our agonizing seeds.

Quaint, outlandish heathen gods Black men fashion out of rods

My poetry has become the way of my giving out what music is within me.

Yet do I marvel at this curious thing: To make a poet black, and bid him sing.

I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind

Lord, I fashion dark gods, too, Daring even to give You Dark despairing features

Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, So I make an idle boast; Jesus of the twice-turned cheek Lamb of God, although I speak With my mouth thus, in my heart Do I play a double part.

The key to all strange things is in thy heart..../ My spirit has come home, that sailed the doubtful seas.

Not for myself I make this prayer, But for this race of mine That stretches forth from shadowed places Dark hands for bread and wine.

I have a rendezvous with life.

Whatever lives is granted breath But by the grace and sufferance of Death.

For we must be one thing or the other, an asset or a liability, the sinew in your wing to help you soar, or the chain to bind you to earth.

Death cut the strings that gave me life, And handed me to Sorrow, The only kind of middle wife My folks could beg or borrow.

Give but a grain of the heart's rich seed, Confine some under cover, And when love goes, bid him God-speed. And find another lover.

Never love with all your heart, It only ends in aching.

The loss of love is a terrible thing; They lie who say that death is worse.

What is last year's snow to me, Last year's anything? The tree Budding yearly must forget How its past arose or set

The truth is... everything counts. Everything. Everything we do and everything we say. Everything helps or hurts; everything adds to or takes away from someone else.

I was reared in the conservative atmosphere of a Methodist parsonage.

What is Africa to me: Copper sun or scarlet sea, Jungle star or jungle track, Strong bronzed men, or regal black Women from whose loins I sprang When the birds of Eden sang?

My poetry, I should think, has become the way of my giving out what music is within me.

Your love to me was like an unread book.

There is no secret to success except hard work and getting something indefinable which we call 'the breaks.