“Each and every one of these leaders was a Negro citizen of the United States. They had earned the right to guide us, help us, not because their colored forebears helped free us and defend us in the Revolutionary War, in the War of 1812, in the Union Army of Lincoln and Grant, in the First and Second World Wars, in Korea, but because they were part of our whole, part of each of us, with the same stakes and goals.”
“For the middle majority of us all, knowledge of Negroes firsthand is probably limited—limited to the colored cleaning woman, who comes twice a week, limited to the colored baseball player who saves or loses a home game, limited to the garage mechanic, or dime-store clerk, or blues singer seen and heard on a Saturday night. To this white majority, the black man is as unknown as once was the heart of the Dark Continent of Africa.”
“She reached her waiting chair and shorthand pad, beside Leach, as a far-off erratic voice came indistinctly over the loudspeaker, and then suddenly broke out loudly and clearly. "—calling from Frankfurt am Main, this is Signal Corps Captain Foss calling from Frankfurt am Main. Do we have the White House in Washington?" Calmly Secretary of State Eaton addressed the microphone box. "This is the White House, Captain. This is the Secretary of State. We are assembled and ready for the conference call." "All right, sir. The President is waiting to speak to you." A muffled crossing of voices slapped against the loudspeaker, and then a jagged arrow of static, and at once T. C.'s hurried, bouncy, unceremonious voice was upon them in the Cabinet Room. "Arthur, are you there?”
“Those poor people know Communism gives them bread, while democracy gives them a vote and a Letter to the Editor.”
“The immediate future is not in the hands of our first Negro President. It is in our hands, for better or for worse.”
“How could she be a helpmate to a public figure already so successful, the foremost member of the President's Cabinet? How could she be of any use to a public figure who already possessed everything?”
“Perhaps the Negro musicians had not been able to give enough because they were inhibited by her Southern-supremacy origins.”
“Our own domestic Negro situation is another thing.”
“tell you," he muttered, "those reporters out there sure downright bugged me. Trying to make me out a Bilbo or worse. Anything for a story. They sure can be mighty rough boys.”
“All man's honors are small beside the greatest prize to which he may and must aspire--the finding of his soul, his spirit, his divine strength and worth--the knowledge that he can and must live in freedom and dignity--the final realization that life is not a daily dying, not a pointless end, not ashes-to-ashes and dust-to-dust, but a soaring and blinding gift snatched from eternity.”
“Psalms 127:1." Slowly, Eaton leafed through the book, and then he said, "Is this it? 'Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it: except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.”
“While the nature of this radiation will give no information whatsoever on what fell into the black hole,”
“When we listen to the preaching of the Word, we should not listen primarily for “practical how-to advice,” though Scripture teaches us much about everyday matters. Nor should we listen for messages that bolster our self-esteem or that rouse us to political and social causes. Rather, as mem- bers of Christian churches we should listen primarily for the voice and message of God as revealed in his Word. We should listen to hear what he has written, in his omniscient love, for his glory and for our blessing.”
“Thomasplitzchen Buns Mom always said these could make your enemies your friends or your friends your enemies. I put on five pounds every St. Thomas Day because of them, so I’d say they’re my friendly enemies. Too good to eat just one. 2 cups all-purpose flour ½ teaspoon salt ½ cup butter ½ cup sugar or brown sugar 2 teaspoons baking powder ½ cup milk Filling 3 teaspoons melted butter 1 cup currants, raisins, cranberries, or whatever small, dried fruit you have on hand ¼ cup sugar Icing 3 tablespoons melted butter Few drops vanilla extract 2 cups powdered sugar Mix up all the ingredients for the buns. Get a rolling pin and press out the dough to one-eighth-inch thick on a floured board. Mix together the filling: butter, dried fruit, and sugar. Spread it on the dough. Roll it up like a fat sausage, and make one-inch slices. Put them pinwheel side up on a greased cookie sheet and bake off in a pre-heated 350°F oven until barely suntanned on top. For me, that’s about 12 minutes on a hot day and 15 on a cold one. To make the icing, mix together butter, vanilla extract, and powdered sugar. When the buns are out of the oven, give them a good sugar smothering and let cool.”
“Heavy lifting is good for the soul but bad for the back, and tends to interfere with lolling about.”
“If you decide to war with us, you will fail and suffer an eternity of misery,” he informed, his tone steady and cold. “Is that explicit enough?”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” I said cheerfully, getting in touch with my inner smartass.”
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