“MilitantLet all who willEat quietly the bread of shame.I cannot,Without complaining loud and long,Tasting its bitterness in my throatAnd feeling to my very soulIt's wrong.For honest workYou proffer me poor pay,For honest dreamsYour spit is in my face,And so my fist is clenchedToday--To strike your face.”

“I am forced to get my living by the labour of my hand; and the sweat of my brow... for bitter bread, earned under the frowns of some who have no natural or divine right to be above me, and entirely owe their grandeur and honor to grinding the faces of the poor...”

“Without you in my arms, I feel an emptiness in my soul. I find myself searching the crowds for your face - I know it's an impossibility, but I cannot help myself.”

“When death captures me," the boy vowed, "he will feel my fist in his face." (31.26)”

“My point is, that if I'm honest, my life is all about me.”

“(Regarding check-cashing places):It's hitting me how poor this really is: I'm standing in a long line to pay someone to give me my pay. So, technically, they get paid before I do, and it's my damn check.”