“I kept traveling down the road. And everywhere it was the same. What was my name, who were my people? What was I supposed to say? That my father is the president, and my mother is his slave?” — Kimberly Brubaker Bradley Copy Share Image
“They all spoke kindly of my dead mother, who had been a slave merely in name, but in nature was noble and womanly.” — Harriet Jacobs Copy Share Image
