Quotes About Prejudice

You don't think it's"– and now she looks around the restaurant before leaning in, whispering–"AIDS?" "Oh no, nothing like that," I say, though immediately I wish I had paused long enough before answering to scare her. "Just . . . general . . . brain"—I bite the tip off an herbed breadstick and shrug—"injuries.

I don't trust anyone named Gavin.

the sweet and smiley and sexually unthreatening elf with liberal values and a positive attitude is supposed to transform everyone into noble gay-loving protectors—again, as long as the gay in question toes the party line, isn't messy or too sexual, negative or angry and offers no contradictions and is certainly not conservative or Christian.

Each white person gets to be considered on their own terms, and every other group must answer as a whole for the crimes of the one or the few."1

The Butlerian Jihad has been over for thousands of years, and still humankind acts as if we're terrified rodents hiding from shadows. There is an anti-Ixian prejudice throughout the Imperium because we make complex machines. People don't understand what we do, and misunderstanding breeds suspicion.

We are opposed to Negro equality. To prevent this we are willing to spare the last man, down to the point where women and children begin to suffer for food and clothing; when these begin to suffer and die, rather than see them equalized with an inferior race we will die with them.

Non aveva mai capito perché la gente che leggeva Edgar Wallace per gusto e che riteneva che i gatti neri portassero sfortuna dovesse sentirsi offesa dalla dottrina della transustanziazione.

what is a german? to say a man is a german, what is that? does it tell you if he is a good man? or a bad man? no, my friend, it tells you nothing about a man to say he is german. a man must think what he is inside. what he is on the outside, how can this matter?

But I started to realize that it doesn't begin like this, that anybody can be the target for prejudice, all you have to be is too something . Too short, too fat, too clever, too big, too small, too slow, too new, too different from what others think of as normal.

Racism is a primary force of evil designed to destroy good men.

It was the first time I'd realised that the giant in 'Jack and the Beanstalk' was an Afrikaner.

Nnaife did not realise that Dr Meers's laughter was inspired by that type of wickedness that reduces any man, white or black, intelligent or not, to a new low; lower than the basest of animals, for animals at least respected each other's feelings, each other's dignity.

The concept of whiteness could cover a multitude of sins.

Adah could not stop thinking about her discovery that the whites were just as fallible as everyone else. There were bad whites and good whites, just as there were bad blacks and good blacks! Why then did they claim to be superior?

She, who only a few months previously would have accepted nothing but the best, had by now been conditioned to expect inferior things. She was now learning to suspect anything beautiful and pure. Those things were for the whites, not the blacks.

I was glad, though, for those boys whom we helped to get places at Paddington Coll e of Education. Eighteen months later one boy got his two ' A' levels. And to think that when I first met him his greatest ambition was to kill a white policeman!

Much of my life appeared to be a lesson in not judging books by their covers.

It seems a universal rule in this world that people will always look for victims and scapegoats, does it not? Especially at times of difficulty and tension.

Far too many people will believe anything of those they hate, no matter how absurd or patently fabricated it may be.

Nowadays they hate for nothin'. You ain't even gotta have nothin'. They hatin' on homeless people and shit. Like, "How he get him another plate? Aw man, hell naw. Fuck that homeless nigga." 2Pac told you muhfuckas will hate you for whatever you do, good or bad. No matter what. So you might as well get used to it.

The idea, so current in our time, that Southern California is peopled by idlers, oldsters, playboys, and crackpots.

Soon enough it was explained to Buck Nance that Key West was a bad location to be making fun of homosexuals, and also African-Americans. This bulletin was delivered by a 275-pound biker who happened to be both gay and black, and owned a right hand that fit easily around Buck's stringy, hirsute neck.

Montana turned out to be better than he had expected, wide-open and friendly, with a few exceptions. A desk clerk at the motel in Missoula shot him a hard look when she saw the name on the credit card. Being a Garcia from Miami wasn't easy these days. Some people automatically assumed you had six kilos in the trunk and a loaded Uzi under the front seat.

Spending time with Benny the Blister had shaken Buck Nance's confidence in the superiority of the white male. He and his brothers had clung to such views since their Romberg youth, warped by their father's fulminations. While redneck stardom had exposed Buck to many white fans who were poor advertisements for a master race, Blister stood out as one of the worst specimens he'd ever met: stupid, reckless, dirty, and delusional. And that's when he was stone sober.