Quotes About Diversity

Eight featured countries representing nearly half of the world's population.

For the longest time I was brought up listening to only two genres of music, pop and rock. So in the past few years I've been trying to expand my interests because I think that you can only write to the extent of your knowledge, and if your knowledge is limited you can't write past that.

I'm one eighth Lakota, but I don't think one eighth of anything counts for much. I'm half Irish, and then some Austrians got into the mix. Then there's the English part. That's where Hillary came from. I bet the Indians even watch the weather channel.

Never judge anyone by another's opinions. We all have different sides that we show to different people.

Look how beautifully black we are. And as we dance, I am not Melody who is sixteen, I am not my parents' once illegitimate daughter—I am a narrative, someone's almost forgotten story. Remembered.

Thing about white people," Jeremiah's father tells him, "they know what everybody else is, but they don't know they're white" - "Maybe some know it" His father eyed him and smiled "When they walk into a party and everyone's black, they know it. Or when they get caught in Harlem after nightfall, they know it. But otherwise...

If someone had taken that book out of my hand said, You're too old for this maybe I'd never have believed that someone who looked like me could be in the pages of the book that someone who looked like me had a story.

Chapter 1 JEREMIAH WAS BLACK. HE COULD FEEL IT. THE WAY THE sun pressed down hard and hot on his skin in the summer. Sometimes it felt like he sweated black beads of oil. He felt warm inside his skin, protected. And in Fort Greene, Brooklyn—where everyone seemed to be some shade of black-he felt good walking through the neighborhood. But one step outside. Just one step and somehow the weight of his skin seemed to change. It got heavier. Light-skinned

We knew Down South. Everyone had one. Jamaica, Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico.

Stories can be windows, but also mirrors.

fabric store, we are not Colored or Negro. We are not thieves or shameful or something to be hidden away. At the fabric store, we're just people.

That's all anybody is-themselves. People all the time wanting to change that.

She said she'd chosen Santa Cruz because when se walked around the campus, she blended somehow, no one asking if she was part Negro, no one accusing her of passing for white.

Jacqueline Woodson

That's what up , Amari said. Read those poems in all kinds of American, son.

Now out on the floor, Melody and Malcolm were being joined by their friends, other babies turned into teenagers becoming a crush of butt-length braids and perfectly shaped fades, long painted nails lacing into lotioned teen-boy hands. He shook out his shoulders, realized his own hands were sweating. Most of the grown-ups were tapping their feet, some even moving in to dance beside the young people.

But that afternoon there was an orchestra playing. Music filling the brownstone. Black fingers pulling violin bows and strumming cellos, dark lips around horns, a small brown girl with pale pink nails on flute. Malcolm's younger brother, his dark skin glistening, blowing somberly into a harmonica. A broad?shouldered woman on harp. From my place on the stairs, I could see through the windows curious white people stopping in front of the building to listen.

God'll make a butt-ugly boy, but I ain't never seen him make a ugly girl child.

Her deeply tanned skin and dark gray eyes made people look at her, then look at him. She'd always kept her hair cut short, but that year it had grown into loose curls with so much gray and blond moving through it. They didn't match, the two of them. When he held his arm against hers and asked why, she laughed and said, The black ancestors beat the crap out of the white ones and said, Let this baby on through.

Don't even know they're in the presence of royalty when they ask, How come you all sit together? without checking their own all-white tables.

People are so caught up in trying to force their own world onto everybody else's that they don't even get the fact that the other person doesn't care.

Once I asked Miah if he ever forgot he was black. No. I never forget, he said. But sometimes it doesn't matter-like I just am. Then he asked me if I ever forgot I was white. Sometimes, I said. And when you're forgetting, what color are you? No color. Then Miah looked away from me and said, We're different that way.

Let us face a pluralistic world in which there are no universal churches, no single remedy for all diseases, no one way to teach or write or sing, no magic diet, no world poets, and no chosen races, but only the wretched and wonderfully diversified human race.

S'il n y a pas de rapport sexuel c'est que l'Autre est d'une autre race.