My life, my real life, was in danger, and not from anything other people might do but from the hatred I carried in my own heart.


Notes of a Native Son (1955), title essay


My life, my real life, was in danger, and not from anything other people might do but from the hatred I carried in my own heart.

My life, my real life, was in danger, and not from anything other people might do but from the hatred I carried in my own heart.

My life, my real life, was in danger, and not from anything other people might do but from the hatred I carried in my own heart.

My life, my real life, was in danger, and not from anything other people might do but from the hatred I carried in my own heart.