Zora Neale Hurston Quotes
Most popular Zora Neale Hurston Quotes
An envious heart makes a treacherous ear.
Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board.
Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place.
Grab the broom of anger and drive off the beast of fear.
There is something about poverty that smells like death.
There are years that ask questions and years that answer.
There is no agony like bearing an untold story within you.
There is no agony like bearing an untold story inside you.
Learning without wisdom is a load of books on a donkey's back.
Once you wake up thought in a man, you can never put it to sleep again.
Research is formalized curiosity. It is poking and prying with a purpose.
You are right to listen to proverbs. They are short sayings made out of long experience.
It's a funny thing, the less people have to live for, the less nerve they have to risk losing—nothing.
Ah seen a man so ugly till they had to spread a sheet over his head at night so sleep could slip up on him.
It seems to me that trying to live without friends is like milking a bear to get cream for your morning coffee.
Silence is all the genius a fool has and it is one of the things a smart man knows how to use when he needs it.
It seems like the first law of Nature is that everybody likes to receive things, but nobody likes to feel grateful.
She had found a jewel down inside herself and she had wanted to walk where people could see her and gleam it around.
Love, I find, is like singing. Everybody can do enough to satisfy themselves, though it may not impress the neighbors as being very much.
Happiness is not something you can catch and lock up in a vault like wealth. Happiness is nothing but everyday living seen through a veil.
I have been in Sorrow's kitchen and licked out all the pots. Then I have stood on the peaky mountain wrapped in rainbows, with a harp and a sword in my hands.
When we sing the blues, we're singing out our hearts, we're singing out our feelings. Maybe we're hurt and just can't answer back, then we sing or maybe even hum the blues.
There is something about poverty that smells like death. Dead dreams dropping off the heart like leaves in a dry season and rotting around the feet; impulses smothered too long in the fetid air of underground caves.