Quotes About Diversity

are a good thing for America, they help keep the homosexuals off the streets.

They'd run all these tests on him and decided he wasn't racist. He wasn't, either, but not because he thought about it particularly. He just couldn't see the point. It just made for a lot of hassle, being that way, so why be that way? Nobody was going to go back and live where they lived before, were they, and if they did (he vaguely suspected) there wouldn't be any Mongolian barbecue and maybe we'd all be listening to Pentecostal Metal and anyway the President was black.

The world hadn't ever had so many moving parts or so few labels.

unlikely tan on one of Lonny Zone's whores and the crisp naval uniform of a tall African whose cheekbones were ridged with precise rows of tribal

No,' [Angie] said, 'not like mine. Do you know anything about Africa religions, Porphyre?' He smirked, 'I'm not African.' 'But when you were a child...' 'When I was a child,' Porphyre said, 'I was white.

The waitress was a distracted-looking woman of indeterminate ancestry, acne scars sprinkled across her cheekbones, and she poured his coffee and took his order without actually indicating she understood English. Like the whole operation could be basically phonetic, he thought, and she'd have learned the sound of "two eggs over easy" and the rest. Hear it, translate it into whatever she wrote in, then give it to the cook.

I'm allergic to Best Ofs, canon of all sorts, rankings, comparison. I love the bottomless Borgesian library.

In our country for all her greatness there is one thing she cannot do and that is translate a person wholly out of one class into another. Perfect translation from one language into another is impossible. Class is the British language.

We have to face it at last. We're not all human.

aç?klamak istiyordu; hiç kimsenin tam san?ld??? gibi olmad???n? anlatmak istiyordu.

A lack of openness can doom social learning efforts. Without openness, we tend to network with people like us — who don't challenge us and who know little more than we do. Because these people share the same biases and blind spots, interacting with them only reinforces groupthink.

It would probably astound each of us beyond measure to be let into his neighbors mind and to find how different the scenery was there from that of his own.

If you wish to upset the law that all crows are black, you mustn't seek to show that no crows are; it is enough if you prove one single crow to be white.

I know that you, ladies and gentlemen, have a philosophy, each and all of you, and that the most interesting and important thing about you is the way in which it determines the perspective in your several worlds.

Individuality outruns all classification, yet we insist on classifying every one we meet under some general head.

Love comes in so many forms, and pain is no different.

Hooray for differences! Without them, there would be no harmony. In principles, great clarity. In practices, great charity.

The single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete. They make one story become the only story.

Because of writers like Chinua Achebe and Camara Laye … I realized that people like me, girls with skin the color of chocolate, whose kinky hair could not form ponytails, could also exist in literature.

For every action, there's an infinity of outcomes. Countless trillions are possible, many milliards are likely, millions might be considered probable, several occur as possibilities to us as observers - and one comes true.

Technically, our name, to those who speak science, is Homo sapiens— wise person. But we have been described in many other ways. Homo narrans, juridicus, ludens, diaspora: we are storytelling, legal, game-playing, scattered people, too. True but incomplete. That old phrase has the secret. We are all, have always been, will always be, Homo vorago aperientis: person before whom opens a vast & awesome hole.

Just her, three men, a fidgety pig and lawful intent.

In the streets of Un Lun Dun: a group of a girl, a half ghost, a talking book, a piece of rubbish, and two living words was unusual but not very.

There are parts where even individual trees are crosshatched, where Ul Qoman children and Besz children clamber past each other, each obeying their parents' whispered strictures to unsee the other.