Quotes About Race

Our Jewishness was racially a middle place to experience womanhood. In relation to mainstream white folks, the women of my family felt different. However, in relation to African Americans, we experienced ourselves as mainstream and white.

The White Mansion isn't boring, lass. Never boring. It's the grand demesne the Unseelie King built for his concubine. It's a living, breathing love story, testament to the brightest passion that ever burned between our races. You can follow the scenes through if you've time enough and are willing to risk getting lost for a few centuries.

Your race devotes itself to justifying its errors, not correcting them

We are not perfect. What god is Examine yours. According to your mythos he was so disappointed with his initial efforts creating your race that he tried again. At least we imprisoned our mistakes. Your god permits his to roam free. At a mere few thousand years old your creation myths are far more absurd than ours.

Change requires an admission of error. Your race devotes itself to justifying its errors, not correcting them.

Are you ruled by a heart that foolishly imprinted on the wrong man? Like most humans, are you incapable of change? Change requires an admission of error. Your race devotes itself to justifying its errors, not correcting them." "My heart hasn't imprinted on anyone." "Good. Then it may yet be mine.

Mythological race? Dark King? Magic? Was this all some kind of joke?

After a horrible, crazy speeder race by Bardan] "Thank you for flying Jedi Air." Jusik grinned and shook their hands. "Have a nice afternoon." "You're all insane," said Sev.

Partly, it is because we tend to think of black and white poverty differently. Sandra Barnes (2005, 17), citing census data from 2000, notes that "75 percent of all impoverished are white," but also that (taken from Flanagan 1999): "poverty among whites appears to be less expected, less recognized, less stigmatized, and less often the focus of research and commentary." Andrew Hacker (1995, 100) adds that:

One wiry little man sees from the form that I am living in South Africa and begins to question me about the situation in the run-up to the country's first all-race elections. 'Mandela will never win there, will he? Our

Why is everything an 'adventure' with you?" Sylvie said irritably to Izzie." "Because life is an adventure, of course." "I would say it was more of an endurance race," Sylvie said. "Or an obstacle course.

With no one but blacks around him, other than his own son, Thornhill saw that their skins were not black, no more than his own was white. They were simply skins, with the same pores and hairs, the same shadings of colour as his own. If black skin was all there was to see, it was amazing how quickly it became the colour that skin was.

Then they were moving again. Frank told her it was because of Benni, the nursemaid who looked after them. Benni was half Chinese, that golden skin. Her mother was ordinary Australian, was how Benni put it. That

But the daily tasks and prayers of men, the ancient city tired from having lived too long, the ravaged marble and worn out bells, all those things oppressed by the weight of memories, all those perishable things were rendered humble in comparison with the tremendous blazing Alps that tore at the sky with their thousand unyielding spikes, a vast, solitary city that was waiting, perhaps, for a new race of Titans.

Count Andrea Sperelli-Fieschi of Ugenta, the sole heir, continued the family tradition. He was, in truth, the ideal type of young Italian gentleman of the nineteenth century, the legitimate defender of a lineage of gentlemen and elegant artists, the last descendant of an intellectual race. He was, as it were, completely impregnated with art.

She was pretty and smart, which makes her death a tragedy. She was poor and black, which means people say they saw it coming.

The awareness gave him pause: perhaps a funny-looking mixed-race kid could exist at the center of the world, not just on its periphery.

She was pretty and smart, which makes her death a tragedy. She was poor and black, which means people say they saw it coming. Sunday

knows why she was here or who she came to see or why she decided to kill herself by swimming into the icy waters of the Alice Island Sound in December. That is to say, no one knows the specific reason. They know that Marian Wallace is black, that she is twenty-two years old, and that she had a twenty-five-month-old toddler.

The white man" represented "civilization" as a single human being defined equally by his whiteness and by his maleness.

One law prohibited blacks from testifying against whites in court, and carefully defined "negro" as anyone who had one nonwhite grandparent.

Next to the sale of their children or spouse, rape was perhaps the worst nightmare of slavery. We have no way of knowing how often it happened... We do know that white women were haunted by the fear that their husbands, fathers, or sons were having sex with their slaves. And we know that black mothers nervously watched their daughters to protect them from dangers they could not understand.

For a moment...for a moment. We are eternal. We are every warrior forced to kill and die for a cause no one will remember in years to come. Every adversary who ever felt blade cleave into bone. Every crimson-stained fighter who died for nothing. I imagine the first beings left here by the gods died thus. And when the sun sets on our race, the last two men will have their brothers' blood on their blades.

Once literature is contrived as the hymn of the nation, the flag of the race, the mouthpiece of a political party or the voice of a class or a group it can be employed as a mighty and all-engulfing tool of propaganda. However, such literature loses what is inherent in literature, ceases to be literature, and becomes a substitute for power and profit.