I lived between my music and books, on the whole a rather unwholesome life for a boy to lead. I dwelt in a world of imagination, of dreams and air castles – the kind of atmosphere that sometimes nourishes a genius, more often men unfitted for the practical struggles of life.

It is a struggle; for though the white man of the South may be too proud to admit it, he is, nevertheless, using in the contest his best energies; he is devoting to it the greater part of his thought and much of his endeavor.

New York had impressed me as a place where there was lots of money and not much difficulty in getting it.

Do you know, I don’t object to anyone’s having prejudices so long as those prejudices don’t interfere with my personal liberty.

As I grew older, my love for reading grew stronger. I read with studious interest everything I could find relating to colored men who had gained prominence. My heroes had been King David, then Robert the Bruce; now Frederick Douglass was enshrined in the place of honor.

A space was quickly cleared in the crowd, and a rope placed about his neck, when from somewhere came the suggestion, “Burn him!” It ran like an electric current. Have you ever witnessed the transformation of human beings into savage beasts? Nothing can be more terrible.

With his head in his hands, God thought and thought, Till he thought: I’ll make me a man!

Music is a universal art; anybody’s music belongs to everybody; you can’t limit it to race or country.

I’m lonely I’ll make me a world.

My boy, you are by blood, by appearance, by education, and by tastes a white man. Now, why do you want to throw your life away amidst the poverty and ignorance, in the hopeless struggle, of the black people of the United States?