Hungry child, I didn't make this world for you. You didn't buy any stock in my railroad. You didn't invest in my corporation. Where are your shares in standard oil? I made the world for the rich And the will-be-rich And the have-always-been-rich. Not for you, Hungry Child.
Hughes was fantastic. Just did a lengthy writeup on him for a term paper. He had an amazing ability to pull maximum intensity out of minimal words... even though he was maybe a Communist (though probably not).
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over— like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?