Things are working out... towards their dazzling conclusions.

For us Africans, literature must serve a purpose: to expose, embarrass, and fight corruption and authoritarianism. It is understandable why the African artist is utilitarian.

Humans, not places, make memories.

There are powerful forces undermining progress in Africa. But one must never underestimate the power of the people to bring about change.

Time by itself means nothing, no matter how fast it moves, unless we give it something to carry for us; something we value. Because it is such a precious vehicle, is time.

People are worms, and even the God who created them is immensely bored with their antics.

No matter what anybody says, we can't have it all. Not if you are a woman. Not yet.

the best way to sharpen a knife is not to whet one side of it only. And neither can you solve a riddle by considering only one end of it.

They had always told me that I wrote like a man.

Ghana is like a lion without a head

Politicians are easy to attack, but frankly, we are all guilty of not meeting the needs of Africa's young people properly.

Immediate necessity makes many things convenient, which if continued would grow into oppressions. Expedience and right are different things.

Openness without strength is useless; strength without openness is oppression.

We cannot erase the past, but we can accept it as history.

When we really worship anything, we love not only its clearness but its obscurity. We exult in its very invisibility.

Jealousy is the theory that some other fellow has just as little taste.

Free all the prisoners everywhere, all they want is truth and justice, all they need is love and care.

An Irishman I am, begora! With a heart and a spirit on me not crushed be a hundred years of oppression. I'll be getting me shillelagh out next, wait'll you see.

We are 6.6 billion people now. We can only feed 4 billion. I don't see 2 billion volunteers to disappear.

One day I realized that it didn't matter whether people loved me or not.

You want him to walk?" Caleb demands. "Are you insane?" "Did I shoot him in the leg?" I say. "No. He walks. Where do we go, Peter?