Out of the sky, the birds, the parrots, the bells, silk, cloth, and drums, out of Sundays dancing, children's words and love words, out of love for the little fists of children, I will build a world, my world with… — Aime Cesaire Copy Share Image
It is no use painting the foot of the tree white, the strength of the bark cries out from beneath the paint. — Aime Cesaire Copy Share Image
Africa, help me to go home, carry me like an aged child in your arms. Undress me and wash me. Strip me of all… — Aime Cesaire Copy Share Image
“the thick stream of air hauled toward the summits first the great horses of noise reared against the sky then sluggishly the great limp… — Aimé Césaire Copy Share Image
Poetic knowledge is born in the great silence of scientific knowledge. — Aime Cesaire Copy Share Image
I would rediscover the secret of great communications and great combustions. I would say storm. I would say river. I would say tornado. I… — Aime Cesaire Copy Share Image
“like the scorpion's question mark drawn in the pollen on the canvas of the sky and of our brains at midnight” — Aimé Césaire Copy Share Image
“the forest remembers that the last word can only be the flaming cry of the bird of ruins in the bowl of the storm” — Aimé Césaire Copy Share Image
When I turn on my radio, when I hear that Negroes have been lynched in America, I say that we have been lied to:… — Aime Cesaire Copy Share Image
Beware, my body and my soul, beware above all of crossing your arms and assuming the sterile attitude of the spectator, for life is… — Aime Cesaire Copy Share Image
