Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fire blazes. No one ever thanked him. — Robert Hayden Copy Share Image
It seemed to me as we were talking about Christ rising from the dead, the sun popped over the mountain. That was indicative of… — Robert Hayden Copy Share
This freedom, this liberty, this beautiful and terrible thing, needful to man as air, usable as earth. — Robert Hayden Copy Share
Midnight Special on a sabre track movering movering, first stop Mercy and the last Hallelujah. — Robert Hayden Copy Share
As well have a talon as a finger, a muzzle as a mouth, as well have a hollow as a heart. — Robert Hayden Copy Share
We must not be frightened nor cajoled into accepting evil as deliverance from evil. We must go on struggling to be human, though monsters… — Robert Hayden Copy Share
Runs falls rises stumbles on from darkness into darkness and the darkness thicketed with shapes of terror and the hunters pursuing and the hounds… — Robert Hayden Copy Share
Art is not escape, but a way of finding order in chaos, a way of confronting life. — Robert Hayden Copy Share
Shuttles in the rocking loom of history, the dark ships move, the dark ships move, their bright ironical names like jests of kindness on… — Robert Hayden Copy Share
“We must not be frightened nor cajoled into accepting evil as deliverance from evil. We must go on struggling to be human, though monsters… — Robert Hayden Copy Share
“Unable to sleep, or pray, I stand by the window looking out at moonstruck trees a December storm has bowed with ice. Maple and… — Robert Hayden Copy Share
I believe it's true that one person can make a difference. But how much more difference 100 people make, or rather 99. — Robert Hayden Copy Share
“O Jesus burning on the lily cross... O night, rawhead and bloodybones night... O night betrayed by darkness not its own.” — Robert Hayden Copy Share
Your presence was shore where I rested/ released from the hoodoo of that dance, where I spoke/ with my true voice again. — Robert Hayden Copy Share
