William Wells Brown
William Wells Brown was an influential American abolitionist, novelist, playwright, and historian who emerged from the shadows of slavery to become a pioneering literary figure. Born into slavery in Kentucky, he escaped to Ohio at the age of 19 and later settled in Boston, where he became deeply involved in abolitionist efforts and other social reform movements, including women's suffrage and temperance. His literary career began with the publication of 'Clotel' in 1853, which is recognized as the first novel written by an African American. This groundbreaking work, published in London, explored the complexities of race and identity in America, setting a precedent for future African American literature. Brown's contributions extended beyond fiction; he was also the first published African American playwright, with his works performed on the lecture circuit. His historical writings, particularly 'The Negro in the American Revolution' published in 1867, marked significant advancements in the documentation of African American history. Despite facing challenges, including a public feud with fellow abolitionist Frederick Douglass, Brown's legacy endures. He was inducted into the Kentucky Writers Hall of Fame and has had a public school named in his honor, reflecting his lasting impact on American literature and social justice.
Famous Quotes
View all 13 quotes“Who dies best, the soldier who falls for your sake, or the fly in my whiskey-glass? The happy agony of the fly is his reward for an adventurous dive in no cause but his own. Gorged and crazed, he touches bottom, knows he's gone as far as he can go, and bravely sticks. I sleep on. In the morning I pour new happiness upon the crust of the old, and only as I raise the glass to my lips descry through that rich brown double inch my flattened hero. I drink around his death, being no angler by any inclination, and leave him in the weird shallows. The glass set down, I idle beneath the fan, while beyond my window-bars a warm drizzle passes silently from clouds to leaves.How to die? How to live? These questions, if we ask the dead fly, are both answered thus: In a drunken state. But drunk on WHAT should we all be? Well, there's love to drink, of course, and death, which is the same thing, and whiskey, better still, and heroin, best of all”
“A big part of being a well-adjusted person is accepting that you can’t be good at everything.””
“Still, we permit the appearance of our meats, sauces, fruits, and vdgetables to dominate our tongues until it is difficult to divide a twist of lemon or squeeze of lime from the colors of their rinds or separate yellow from its yolk or chocolate from the quenchless brown which seems to be the root, shoot, stalk, and bloom of it. Yet I hardly think the eggplant's taste is as purple as its skin. In fact, there are few flavors at the violet end, odors either, for the acrid smell of blue smoke is deceiving, as is the tooth of the plum, though there may be just a hint of blue in the higher sauces. Perceptions are always profound, associations deceiving. No watermelon tastes red. Apropos: while waiting for a bus once, I saw open down the arm of a midfat, midlife, freckled woman, suitcase tugging at her hand like a small boy needing to pee, a deep blue crack as wide as any in a Roquefort. Split like paper tearing. She said nothing. Stood. Blue bubbled up in the opening like tar. One thing is certain: a cool flute blue tastes like deep well water drunk from a cup.””
Books from the author
