Quotes on White

When I first read Barbara Tuchman's 'The Guns of August' in the autumn of 1963, it was as though history went from black and white to Technicolor.

My books are not about how it feels to be a black man. My books are about how it feels to be a human being, and part of what I'm trying to sort out is what we mean - what I mean, what you mean, what everybody in the culture means - when they say 'black man,' or they say 'white person.'

Whatever the white man has done, we have done, and often better.

The animals of the world exist for their own reasons. They were not made for humans any more than black people were made for white, or women created for men.

What I did at Ole Miss had nothing to do with going to classes. My objective was to destroy the system of white supremacy.

Do you know how big of an insult that is to me - to say that I had to be brave to confront some ignorant white folks?

I was taught to believe that the most dishonorable thing a Meredith could do was work in a white woman's kitchen and take care of a white man's child. I knew I would starve to death rather than do either.

I talked and talked of everything I know about the white man's inhuman treatment of the Negro.

I was unique in that I was a kind of black that white people could accept. I was their daydream. I had the worst kind of acceptance because it was never for how great I was or what I contributed. It was because of the way I looked.

Then Carol slipped her arm under her neck, and all the length of their bodies touched fitting as if something had prearranged it. Happiness was like a green vine spreading through her, stretching fine tendrils, bearing flowers through her flesh. She had a vision of a pale white flower, shimmering as if seen in darkness, or through water. Why did people talk of heaven, she wondered

The unicorn was white, with hoofs of silver and graceful horn of pearl... The glorious thing about him was his eye. There was a faint bluish furrow down each side of his nose, and this led to the eye sockets, and surrounded them in a pensive shade. The eyes, circled by this sad and beautiful darkness, were so sorrowful, lonely, gentle and nobly tragic, that they killed all other emotions except love.

I ran for the presidency, despite hopeless odds, to demonstrate the sheer will and refusal to accept the status quo.

A child born to a Black mother in a state like Mississippi... has exactly the same rights as a white baby born to the wealthiest person in the United States. It's not true, but I challenge anyone to say it is not a goal worth working for.

As a black woman who grows up in a predominantly white neighborhood, you learn how to perform a 'good' version of yourself. And then when you're with your home girls, you're saying all kinds of stuff that sounds all kinds of crazy, but you understand each other because you're speaking the way that you're comfortable with.

I don't want to be white. I don't want to be straight. I don't want to blend in.

As I got to know the people of the Civil Rights Movement, I realized... _x000D_ I am the hopeful black woman who was denied her right to vote. _x000D_ I am the caring white supporter killed on the front lines of freedom. _x000D_ I am the unarmed black kid who maybe needed a hand, but instead was given a bullet. I am the two fallen police officers murdered in the line of duty. 'Selma' has awakened my humanity.

O Time the fatal wrack of mortal things,_x000D_ That draws oblivion's curtains over kings;_x000D_ Their sumptuous monuments, men know them not,_x000D_ Their names without a record are forgot,_x000D_ Their parts, their ports, their pomps all laid in th' dust_x000D_ Nor wit nor gold, nor buildings scape time's rust;_x000D_ But he whose name is graved in the white stone_x000D_ Shall last and shine when all of these are gone.

Islamophobia first appeared in my life on 11 September 2001. I was coming back from college and didn't know what had happened. A white van stopped and a man got out. He spat on me, yelled a profanity, and then threw a can of coke in my direction. I cried as I walked home.

I write to create red in a world that often appears black and white.

My skin is kind of sort of brownish pinkish yellowish white. My eyes are greyish blueish green, but I'm told they look orange in the night. My hair is reddish blondish brown, but its silver when its wet, and all the colors I am inside have not been invented yet.

I think, as a kid, turning on the television and seeing that everyone seemed to be wealthy and white made me feel like an outsider, lesser than. I was not wealthy. I was not white.