Fairy tales thrive on black and white. In life, there's only grey - no bad guys, no good guys. You could be the Cheshire cat, Snow White, a troll pr a pastry-making witch whose diet consists only of little kids, but you'll always be you.
He [liberal white person] may stand with you through thin, but not thick; when the chips are down, you'll find that as fixed in him as his bone structure is his sometimes subconscious conviction that he's better than anybody black.
He nodded and curled over his paper, writing quickly. As his words took form on the white page, she got to watch him. . . and realized she never wanted him to go. She wanted him here beside her forever.
For centuries, Europeans dominated the African continent. The white man arrogated to himself the right to rule and to be obeyed by the non-white; his mission, he claimed, was to "civilize" Africa. Under this cloak, the Europeans robbed the continent of vast riches and inflicted unimaginable suffering on the African people.
We understand that Nixon's aggression against Vietnam is a racist aggression, that the American war in Vietnam is a racist war, a white man's war. . . We deplore that you are being used as cannon fodder for U. S. imperialism. We've seen photographs of American bombs and antipersonnel weapons being dropped, wantonly, accidentally perhaps, on your heads, on the heads of your comrades.
No matter how people mess with you or let you down, or how you let yourself down, a good book means that when you get in bed that night, you have a good hour. I feel like you pay all day for that hour. That's what books mean to me. I can open this two-dimensional , flat white page with squiggly little black marks on them, and someone has created this world that you're going to enter into.
With her braided hair and white dress, she seemed to glow in the moonlight.
Do you remember when we picketed the White House in 1965?
The acknowledgement that this person is English, white, or French, or German, this is Portuguese, this is Rwandan, this is Senegalese, this is a black South Africans is a glorious thing. To speak of those positively, to say that they have characteristics, each one of them, that the others almost always do not have, and that there is a complementarily about it.
I hate when things get labeled as "black movies. " I don't say, "Oh, this weekend, I want to see an all-white movie," or "I want to see a black movie. " I just go to a movie because I saw the previews and I relate to it. I want to see it because the previews look interesting.
When this is over. . . we will got to the rainforest, or a beach as white as bone. We will eat grapes from the vine, we will swim with sea turtles, we will walk miles on cobblestone streets. We will laugh and talk and confess. We will.
There are four basic food groups: plain chocolate, milk chocolate, dark chocolate, and white chocolate.
If we go into white congregations, non-whites will sometimes say it felt like worship never started. It was sort of dead and didn't feel that warmly received. But so - and there are different realities either way, and it makes it difficult for all groups to try and cross boundaries.
I'm a big fan of reality shows. I thought the first one, Dukes of Hazzard, captured white people perfectly.
You can usually tell when people aren't being authentic, but that goes for every artist, not just white artists.
Black people don't know what white people are talking about when they talk about a Sister Souljah moment. I tell them it's the moment you meet a proud, beautiful black woman you can never forget.
The fair breeze blew, The white foam flew, And the forrow followed free. We were the first to ever burst into the silent sea.
I believe that all men, black and brown, and white, are brothers, varying, through Time and Opportunity, in form and gift and feature, but differing in no essential particular, and alike in soul and in the possibility of infinite development.
The newspaper stories were like dreams to us, bad dreams dreamt by others. How awful, we would say, and they were, but they were awful without being believable. They were too melodramatic, they had a dimension that was not the dimension of our lives. We were the people who were not in the papers. We lived in the blank white spaces at the edges of print. It gave us more freedom. We lived in the gaps between the stories.
The white face of the winter day came sluggishly on, veiled in a frosty mist; and the shadowy ships in the river slowly changed to black substances; and the sun, blood-red on the eastern marshes behind dark masts and yards, seemed filled with the ruins of a forest it had set on fire.
