“If you're going to get married, do it in the morning. That way, if it dosent work out ; you haven't wasted the whole day.”

“You know, you left without saying good-bye. That's not like you, not that I have the slightest idea what you're like.”

“Man, didn't anybody ever tell you that art is propaganda? It doesn't matter whether you think it should be or it shouldn't be, it just is, and motherfucker, like or not, you're sitting on a funky Magna Carta.”

“Hereos. Idols. They're never who you think they are. Shorter. Nastier. Smellier. And when you finally meet them, there's something that makes you want to choke the shit out of them.”

“It's corny, but I think poems are echoes of the voices in your head and from your past. Your sisters, your father, your ancestors taking to you and through you. Some of it is primal, some of it is hallucinatory bullshit. That madness those boys rapping ain't nothing but urban folklore. They retelling stories passed down from chicken coop to apartment stoop to Ford coupe. Hear that rhyme, boy. Shit, I could get down and rap if I had to. MC Big Mama Osteoporosis in the house.”

“Why is the raw body so unloved when it's out-loud? Just veins, blood, what we're made of?”

“my only complaints are two:that I didn't make myself readyfor you sooner in life, thatI can't give you better,Love you more.”