“You know what would be cool, next time?" said a voice behind me. "Black roses.”
“Once you know that you have a voice,” Louis said, “it’s no longer the voice that matters, but what is behind the voice.”
“Life is like Bed of Roses... Start giving away the Roses to make others happy and you would know what is left behind in your bed for you...”
“The rose is a rose, And was always a rose. But now the theory goes That the apple's a rose, And the pear is, and so's The plum, I suppose. The dear only knows What will next prove a rose. You, of course, are a rose But were always a rose.”
“i do not know what it is about you that closesand opens;only something in me understandsthe voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses”
“Excuse me, but what kinda black lady are you?" I smiled, looked at her, and said, "The kinda black lady that you wanna know.”