Shirley Graham Du Bois (November 11, 1896 – March 27, 1977) was an American-Ghanaian writer, playwright, composer, and activist for African-American causes. Born in Indianapolis to an Episcopal minister, she moved with her family throughout the United States as a child. After marrying her first husband, she moved to Paris to study music at the Sorbonne. After her divorce and return to the United States, Graham Du Bois took positions at Howard University and Morgan College before completing her BA and master's at Oberlin College in Ohio. Her first major work was the opera Tom-Tom, which premiered in Cleveland in 1932. She married W. E. B. Du Bois in 1951, and the couple later lived in Ghana, Tanzania and China. She won several prizes, including an Anisfield-Wolf Book Award for her 1949 biography of Benjamin Banneker. This photograph of Graham Du Bois was taken by Carl Van Vechten in 1946.Photograph credit: Carl Van Vechten; restored by Adam Cuerden
... that, according to his family, Ye Yanlan was compelled to leave government service after speaking Cantonese in front of the emperor of China?
... that the suppression of the Diaspora Revolt of 115–117 CE led to the near-total annihilation and displacement of Jewish communities in Cyrenaica, Cyprus, and much of Egypt?
... that 50 Lan occupied the number-one spot in Taiwan's bubble tea market for most of 2023?
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... that although Hugh O'Neill publicly assisted the English Crown in thwarting Irish rebels during the Nine Years' War, he was secretly the leader of the Irish confederacy?
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It is so terribly sad that I have to explain that the above is a JOKE
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!