Quotes About Influence

You are my shaper and my world as well. It is done. No need to choose.

Not even trying, he had become the kind of man who could walk into a house and make the women cry. Because with him, in his presence, they could. There was something blessed in his manner. Women saw him and wanted to weep—to tell him that their chest hurt and their knees did too. Strong women and wise saw him and told him things they only told each other:

Adults, older girls, shops, magazines, newspapers, window signs—all the world had agreed that a blue-eyed, yellow-haired, pink-skinned doll was what every girl child treasured. "Here," they said, "this is beautiful, and if you are on this day 'worthy' you may have it.

What a man leaves behind is what a man is.

An editor is like a priest or a psychiatrist; if you get the wrong one then you are better off alone.

Girls can do that. Steer a man away from death or drive him right to it.

Do what you please in the City, it is there to back and frame you no matter what you do.

living activity of the dead)

Taught me a lesson I should have known all along. What you do to children matters. And they might never forget.

Adults, older girls, shops, magazines, newspapers, window signs—all the world had agreed that a blue-eyed, yellow-haired, pink-skinned doll was what every girl child treasured.

Men wear you down to a sharp piece of gristle if you let them.

recevoir le pouvoir de dominer autrui est chose difficile ; s'emparer de force de ce pouvoir est chose erronée ; donner ce pouvoir sur soi-même à autrui est chose mauvaise.

Girls can do that. Steer a man away from death or drive him to it.

To the two who gave me life and the one who made me free

deathbreath was a prime creator, a great changer of minds and collector of hearts. Any decision made while inhaling it was as unreliable as it was fierce. Reason in moments of crisis was rare.

All of us—all who knew her—felt so wholesome after we cleaned ourselves on her.

Tolstoy was wrong. Kings are not the slaves of history. History is the slave of kings.

At first the people in the town were frightened; they knew Shadrack was crazy but that did not mean that he didn't have any sense or, even more important, that he had no power. [...] Once the people understood the boundaries and nature of his madness, they could fit him, so to speak, into the scheme of things.

Every nigger I know wants to be cool. There's nothing wrong with controlling yourself, but can't can't nobody control other people.

Above all he wanted to escape what he knew, escape the implications of what he had been told. And all he knew in the world about the world was what other people had told him.

I am aware of how whiteness matures and ascends the throne of universalism by maintaining its powers to describe and enforce its descriptions.

In its pursuit corporations plop themselves down in every corner of the globe selling "democracy" as though it were a brand of toothpaste, the patent to which they alone control.

If he wanted the chair you were in, he stood there, silent, looking at the sitter until you got the message and got up.

Shandrack estaba loco, pero eso no significaba que sus palabras no tuvieran sentido o, cosa aún más importante, que no tuvieran poder.