About James Baldwin
Take no one’s word for anything, including mine—but trust your experience. Know whence you came. If you know whence you came, there is really no limit to where you can go.
If the concept of God has any validity or any use, it can only be to make us larger, freer, and more loving. If God cannot do this, then it is time we got rid of Him.
Love takes off the masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within. I use the word “love” here not merely in the personal sense but as a state of being, or a state of grace—not in the infantile American sense of being made happy but in the tough and universal sense of quest and daring and growth.
They are, in effect, still trapped in a history which they do not understand; and until they understand it, they cannot be released from it.
The subtle and deadly change of heart that might occur in you would be involved with the realization that a civilization is not destroyed by wicked people; it is not necessary that people be wicked but only that they be spineless.
This is why the most dangerous creation of any society is that man who has nothing to lose. You do not need ten such men—one will do.
But it is not permissible that the authors of devastation should also be innocent. It is the innocence which constitutes the crime.
You know, and I know, that the country is celebrating one hundred years of freedom one hundred years too soon. We cannot be free until they are free.
Perhaps the whole root of our trouble, the human trouble, is that we will sacrifice all the beauty of our lives, will imprison ourselves in totems, taboos, crosses, blood sacrifices, steeples, mosques, races, armies, flags, nations, in order to deny the fact of death, which is the only fact we have.
He is the key figure in his country, and the American future is precisely as bright or as dark as his. And the Negro recognizes this, in a negative way. Hence the question: Do I really want to be integrated into a burning house?
If we—and now I mean the relatively conscious whites and the relatively conscious blacks, who must, like lovers, insist on, or create, the consciousness of the others—do not falter in our duty now, we may be able, handful that we are, to end the racial nightmare, and achieve our country, and change the history of the world. If we do not now dare everything, the fulfillment of that prophecy, re-created from the Bible in song by a slave, is upon us: God gave Noah the rainbow sign, No more water, the fire next time!
You were not expected to aspire to excellence: you were expected to make peace with mediocrity.
To defend oneself against a fear is simply to insure that one will, one day, be conquered by it; fears must be faced.
We human beings now have the power to exterminate ourselves; this seems to be the entire sum of our achievement.
It is so simple a fact and one that is so hard, apparently, to grasp: Whoever debases others is debasing himself.
To be loved, baby, hard, at once, and forever, to strengthen you against the loveless world.
We have not stopped trembling yet, but if we had not loved each other none of us would have survived.
The power of the white world is threatened whenever a black man refuses to accept the white world's definitions.
To accept one’s past—one’s history—is not the same thing as drowning in it; it is learning how to use it. An invented past can never be used; it cracks and crumbles under the pressures of life like clay in a season of drought.
It seems to me that one ought to rejoice in the fact of death—ought to decide, indeed, to earn one’s death by confronting with passion the conundrum of life.
I do not mean to be sentimental about suffering—enough is certainly as good as a feast—but people who cannot suffer can never grow up, can never discover who they are.
The glorification of one race and the consequent debasement of another—or others—always has been and always will be a recipe for murder.
To act is to be committed, and to be committed is to be in danger.
And if the word integration means anything, this is what it means: that we, with love, shall force our brothers to see themselves as they are, to cease fleeing from reality and begin to change it.
White people in this country will have quite enough to do in learning how to accept and love themselves and each other, and when they have achieved this—which will not be tomorrow and may very well be never—the Negro problem will no longer exist, for it will no longer be needed.
The Friday Letter
One story from the atlas, every Friday.
No algorithms chasing attention. A work, a place, and the connection between them — with the history checked.

