Alejandro Belden

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me:
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”
― Emma Lazarus

“You won't die, Francie. You were born to lick this rotten life.”
― Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn