O precious is the pause between the winds that come and go, <br> And sweet the silence of the shores between the ebb and flow.
What would New York be without slavery?
I will never sacrifice my morals and ethics for anyone or any win.
O precious is the pause between the winds that come and go, And sweet the silence of the shores between the ebb and flow.
The writer asks himself, 'Can I think of a plot that will parallel this? Can I take this work of literature as an example of something I might produce?' Let us, then, consider literature as a productive science.
The history of America is the history of a genocide that didn't end yet, the genocide of American civilizations.
Somewhere deep down there's a decent man in me, he just can't be found.