I remember the day tDr. King died. I wasn’t angry at the beginning. It was like something very personal in my life had been touched and finished.

Count Basie isn’t just a man, or even just a band. He’s a way of life.

It’s ill-becoming for an old broad to sing about how bad she wants it. But occasionally we do.

After I got over the terrible pain of having something of mine taken from me, I began to think how bad everybody else must be feeling. It wasn’t a nice time.

I don’t have to be an imitation of a white woman that Hollywood sort of hoped I’d become. I’m me, and I’m like nobody else.

It’s so nice to get flowers while you can still smell the fragrance.

Nobody black or white who really believes in democracy can stand aside now; everybody’s got to stand up and be counted.

You have to be taught to be second class; you’re not born that way.

You wouldn’t be allowed to get on a particular bus, but you’d be asked to sign your autograph.

In my early days I was a sepia Hedy Lamarr. Now I’m black and a woman, singing my own way.