Don’t let the mixed signals fool you. Indecision is a decision.
And God said “Love Your Enemy,” and I obeyed him and loved myself.
Everyone deserves not just to survive, but to live
No matter where you’re from, your dreams are valid.
Stop measuring days by degree of productivity and start experiencing them by degree of presence.
there’s really no shortcut to forgetting someone. you just have to endure missing them everyday until you don’t anymore…
"Always learn poems by heart," she said. "They have to become the marrow in your bones. Like fluoride in the water, they’ll make your soul impervious to the world’s soft decay." I imagined my soul taking these words in like silicated water in the Petrified Forest, turning my wood into patterned agate.
Page 9 of White Oleander by Janet Fitch
How you vibrate is what the universe echoes back to you.
The first thing I saw when I walked in the door [of the National Great Blacks in Wax Museum in Baltimore] was a 500lb bale of cotton and it was taller than me, thicker than me, wider than me, and I was just met with the loftiness of Patsey. One of the most shocking things I learned was that it was common to make accessories out of the skin of slaves that died. There were wallets and bags, and they were prized possessions. It doesn’t get more horrific than that. I was stunned that I hadn’t even heard the name Solomon Northup. In school we learned about slavery but we spent more time learning about the Holocaust.
Lupita Nyong’o, from her cover story in Dujour magazine about the horrifying things she learned while studying for her breakout role as Patsey in 12 Years a Slave.
My Nigerian friend and her mom have lived in America for the last 10 years. And she told me her mom was crying after watching a movie about the Black American slave trade like last year. She had no idea we were enslaved whatsoever and was touched by the story.
If you can only be tall because somebody’s on their knees, then you have a serious problem.
How sweet simply to go back to sleep, as the sand does, until the wind thinks to awaken it again.
Little Bee, p.259 by Chris Cleave