“I wish to raise a Black man who will not be destroyed by, nor settle for, those corruptions called power by the white fathers who mean his destruction as surely as they mean mine.”

What woman here is so enamored of her own oppression that she cannot see her heel print upon another woman’s face?

Nothing I accept about myself can be used against me to diminish me.

Some women wait for themselves around the next corner and call the empty spot peace but the opposite of living is only not living and the stars do not care

The learning process is something you can incite, literally incite, like a riot.

I wish to raise a Black man who will recognize that the legitimate objects of his hostility are not women, but the particulars of a structure that programs him to fear and despise women as well as his own Black self.

My experience with people who tried to label me was that they usually did it to either dismiss me or use me.

There is no thing as a single-issue struggle because we do not live single-issue lives.

I remember how being young and Black and gay and lonely felt. A lot of it was fine, feeling I had the truth and the light and the key, but a lot of it was purely hell.

Without community, there is no liberation.

The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.

Anger, used, does not destroy. Hatred does.

Each time you love, love as deeply as if it were forever.

Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.

Wherever the bird with no feet flew, she found trees with no limbs.

We are all more blind to what we have than to what we have not.

Oppressors always expect the oppressed to extend to them the understanding so lacking in themselves.

The devil is not as black as he is painted.

My heart goes out to all black people who have been mistreated and feeling like this their entire lives.

The heaviness of world can often feel like we’re living in black and white, sometimes all we need is a splash of color to remind us of the good in life.

Thoughts on a tapestry. Colour or black and white. A brush, a pen, A flash of light. Ideas flowing soon, about to take flight.

A blank canvas is still better than a ruined painting.

As I comb my hair I find a grey one stands out among all blacks. I’m too like that grey hair, lonely among familiar faces.

We judge on the basis of what somebody looks like, skin color, whether we think they’re beautiful or not. That space on the Internet allows you to converse with somebody with none of those things involved.

I’m glad that young black people are successful with the music. I’m not a hater.