I shirk not. I long for work. I pant for a life full of striving. I am no coward, to shrink before the rugged rush of the storm, nor even quail before the awful shadow of the Veil. But hearken, O Death! Is not this my life hard enough,-is not that dull land that stretches its sneering web about me cold enough,-is not all the world beyond these four little walls pitiless enough, but that thou must needs enter here,-thou, O Death?
( W.E.B. Du Bois )
[ The Souls of Black Folk ]
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