Poor little place,' he murmured with a sigh.  She heard him. He said the most melancholy things, but she noticed that directly he had said them he always seemed more cheerful than usual. All this phrase-making was a game, she thought, for if she had said half what he said, she would have blown her brains out by now.

I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees.

Kiss me and I will be better then I was without you. Or I will have to replace you with snow
In the wind as it comes down and hits my chin.
To the crazy of the pandemonium in this pandemic baby yes.

And we never got the mule, let alone the forty acres.

Written By Charles Evers

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