Angie Quotes

At an early age I learned that people make mistakes, and you have to decide if their mistakes are bigger than your love for them.

Brave doesn't mean you're not scared. It means you go on even though you're scared.

What's the point of having a voice if you're gonna be silent in those moments you shouldn't be?

That's the problem. We let people say stuff, and they say it so much that it becomes okay to them and normal for us. What's the point of having a voice if you're gonna be silent in those moments you shouldn't be?

I can't change where I come from or what I've been through, so why should I be ashamed of what makes me, me?

Once you've seen how broken someone is it's like seeing them naked—you can't look at them the same anymore.

You can destroy wood and brick, but you can't destroy a movement.

Pac said Thug Life stood for 'The Hate U Give Little Infants Fucks Everybody'.

Intentions always look better on paper than in reality.

Once upon a time there was a hazel-eyed boy with dimples. I called him Khalil. The world called him a thug. He lived, but not nearly long enough, and for the rest of my life I'll remember how he died. Fairy tale? No. But I'm not giving up on a better ending.

...yelling doesn't make a thing any more possible.

To every kid in Georgetown and in all “the Gardens” of the world: your voices matter, your dreams matter, your lives matter. Be roses that grow in the concrete.

Jessica has a forehead scar from the deep end of a pool. I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else.

People say misery loves company, but I think it’s like that with anger too.

It's dope to be black until it's hard to be black.

Good-byes hurt the most when the other person’s already gone.

Daddy once told me there's a rage passed down to every black man from his ancestors, born the moment they couldn't stop the slave masters from hurting their families. Daddy also said there's nothing more dangerous than when that rage is activated.

Holy shit. Who the fuck complains about going to Harry Potter World? Or Butter Beer? Or wands?

I've seen it happen over and over again: a black person gets killed just for being black, and all hell breaks loose. I’ve tweeted RIP hashtags, reblogged pictures on Tumblr, and signed every petition out there. I always said that if I saw it happen to somebody, I would have the loudest voice, making sure the world knew what went down. Now I am that person, and I’m too afraid to speak.

People like us in situations like this become hashtags, but they rarely get justice. I think we all wait for that one time though, that one time when it ends right.

Be roses that grow in the concrete.

My son loved working in the neighborhood," One-Fifteen's father claims. "He always wanted to make a difference in the lives there." Funny. Slave masters thought they were making a difference in black people’s lives too. Saving them from their “wild African ways.” Same shit, different century. I wish people like them would stop thinking that people like me need saving.

They would all be sorry... particularly the duck.

Don’t let them put words in your mouth. God gave you a brain. You don’t need theirs.

A hairbrush is not a gun.

Jay’s a people person. I’m more of a “yes, people exist, but that doesn’t mean I need to talk to them” person.

Funerals aren't for dead people. They're for the living.

Things have a habit of working out, you know. Eventually.

Your voices matter, your dreams matter, your lives matter. Be the roses that grow in the concrete.

He was more than any bad decision he made.

Listen! The Hate U—the letter U—Give Little Infants Fucks Everybody. T-H-U-G L-I-F-E. Meaning what society give us as youth, it bites them in the ass when we wild out. Get it?” “Damn.

I've taught myself to speak with two different voices and only say certain things around certain people. I’ve mastered it.

Beauty Lures the Stranger More Easily into Danger -Septimus Heap

Use your head, Sep. Loads of wolverines. Hanging around waiting for super. Gtting excited. eating mint blasts. so what do you think they do?' it must be here. they can't have eaten that... i dunno, Nik, what do they do?' POO.

There's only so much you can take being described as somebody you're not.

And at the end of the day, you don’t kill someone for opening a car door. If you do, you shouldn’t be a cop.

This is exactly what They expect you to do," Momma says. They with a capital T. There's Them and then there's Us. Sometimes They look like Us and don't recognize They are Us.

It's kinda like how we have to do with ourselves. Get rid of the things that don't do us any good. If it won't help the rose grow, you've gotta let it go.

If bravery is a medical condition, everybody's misdiagnosed me.

Church is full of people with plenty to say and nothing to do. You’d think some of them would help us instead of talk about us, but I guess it’s easy to say you love Jesus and harder to act like him.

You can't just rattle it off like a demented parrot.

You could give us a hand instead of staring into space like a constipated camel," Terry Tarsal rudley broke into Marcia's spinning thoughts.

When you fight, you put yourself out there, not caring who you hurt or if you'll get hurt.

You need Saturday to recover and Sunday to repent.

Funny how it works with white kids though. It’s dope to be black until it’s hard to be black.

It’s also about Oscar. Aiyana. Trayvon. Rekia. Michael. Eric. Tamir. John. Ezell. Sandra. Freddie. Alton. Philando. It’s even about that little boy in 1955 who nobody recognized at first—Emmett.

Blue to get ready Green to go Yellow to guide you through the snow Orange to warn you that over you’ll go Then red will be the final glow Now seek the black, there’s no going back.

You could give us a hand instead of staring into space like a constipated camel.

looked me in the eye and, said, ' Sometimes you can do everything right and things will still go wrong. The key is to never stop doing right.

You still got that old laptop? The one you had before we bought you that expensive-ass fruit one?" I laugh. "It's an Apple MacBook, Daddy." "It damn sure wasn't the price of an apple. Anyway, you got the old one?

He got a tan over break. I used to tell him he was so pale he looked like a marshmallow. He hated that I compared him to food. I told him that's what he got for calling me caramel. It shut him up.

What is Tumblr anyway? Is it like Facebook?" "No, and you're forbidden to get one. No parents allowed. You guys already took over Facebook.

Besties before testes.

In a way, he supposed, it was inevitable for immigrants to become child versions of themselves, stripped of their verbal fluency and, with it, a layer of their competence and maturity.

Oh it's a pebble... But it's a really nice pebble Dad thanks.

People are realizing and shouting and marching and demanding. They’re not forgetting. I think that’s the most important part.

Unarmed and dangerous, but America, you made us, only time we famous is when we die and you blame us.

the chocolate raisins tasted somewhat fishy, but Lucy didn't care-chocolate was chocolate. She changed her mind however, when she realized that the raisins were tiny fish heads.

Sometimes you can do everything right and things will still go wrong. The key is never stop doing right.

Listen,” he said gently and stepped closer. “No one can predict the future, but right now you’re the most important thing to me. I would regret it for the rest of my life if we didn’t give this a chance.

Victor wondered about lots of things. He wondered about himself (whether he was broken, or special, or better, or worse) and about other people (whether they were all really as stupid as they seemed). He wondered about Angie - what would happen if he told her how he felt, what it would be like if she chose him. He wondered about life, and people, and science, and magic, and God, and whether he believed in any of them.

A Magnificent Banquet, being A Thanksgiving for the Safe Return Of our Beloved Daughter, Princess Esmeralda. Bring your own plates.

Khalil, I'll never forget. I'll never give up. I'll never be quiet. I promise.

That’s when I learned that when people die, they sometimes take the living with them.

I hope none of them ask about my spring break. They went to Taipei, the Bahamas, Harry Potter World. I stayed in the hood and saw a cop kill my friend.

Oh dear," said Sarah anxiously, "I do wish he wouldn't do these silly things." I'm sure we all wish that, Sarah," said Marcia sternly. "But unfortunately he has progressed rather further than the silly stage. Evil-minded-scheming stage is more what I would call it.

Never let yourself drown while trying to save somebody that don't want to be saved.

Something to live for, something to die for.

Don’t fall for that trap. That’s what they want. If you don’t wanna speak out, that’s up to you, but don’t let it be because you’re scared of them. Who do I tell you that you have to fear?” “Nobody but God.

Well aren't you full of sunshine and donkey feathers.

DeVante’s got a point. What makes his name or our names any less normal than yours? Who or what defines ‘normal’ to you? If my pops were here, he’d say you’ve fallen into the trap of the white standard.

But it's kinda like saying one side of the Death Star is safer than the other. It's still the goddamn Death Star.

Let be real: We're black kids from one of the worst neighborhoods in the city. All it takes is one of us messing up, and suddenly all of us messed up.

But I realize that being real ain't got anything to do with where you live.

Daddy claims the Hogwarts houses are really gangs. They have their own colors, their own hideouts, and they are always riding for each other, like gangs. Harry, Ron, and Hermione never snitch on one another, just like gangbangers. Death Eaters even have matching tattoos. And look at Voldemort. They’re scared to say his name. Really, that “He Who Must Not Be Named” stuff is like giving him a street name. That’s some gangbanging shit right there.

What's a flange?" asked Marcia. A what?" A flange. It says here attatch piece Y to the long, upright D, taking care to align holes P and Q with the corrosponding holes N and O in the left-hand flange. I can't see a wrethed flange anywhere.

Son, one of the biggest lies ever told is that black men don't feel emotions. Guess it's easier not to see us as human when you think we're heartless. Fact of the matter is, we feel things. Hurt, pain, sadness, all of it. We got a right to show them feelings as much as anybody else.

Right. Lack of opportunities," Daddy says. "Corporate America don't bring jobs to our communities, and they damn sure ain't quick to hire us. Then, shit, even if you do have a high school diploma, so many of the schools in our neighborhoods don't prepare us well enough. That's why when your momma talked about sending you and your brothers to Williamson, I agreed. Our schools don't get the resources to equip you like Williamson does. It's easier to find some crack that it is the find a good school around here. "Now, think 'bout this," he says. "How did the drugs even get in our neighborhood? This is a multibillion-dollar industry we talking 'bout, baby. That shit is flown into our communities, but I don't know anybody with a private jet. Do you?" "No." "Exactly. Drugs come from somewhere, and they're destroying our community," he says. "You got folks like Brenda, who think they need them survive, and then you got the Khalils, who think they need to sell them to survive. The Brendas can't get jobs unless they're clean, and they can't pay for rehab unless they got jobs. When the Khalils get arrested for selling drugs, they either spend most of their life in prison, another billion-dollar industry, or they have a hard time getting a real job and probably start selling drugs again. That's the hate they're giving us, baby, a system designed against us. That's Thug Life.

When I was twelve, my parents had two talks with me. One was the usual birds and bees. Well, I didn't really get the usual version. My mom, Lisa, is a registered nurse, and she told me what went where, and what didn't need to go here, there, or any damn where till I'm grown. Back then, I doubted anything was going anywhere anyway. While all the other girls sprouted breasts between sixth and seventh grade, my chest was as flat as my back. The other talk was about what to do if a cop stopped me. Momma fussed and told Daddy I was too young for that. He argued that I wasn't too young to get arrested or shot. "Starr-Starr, you do whatever they tell you to do," he said. "Keep your hands visible. Don't make any sudden moves. Only speak when they speak to you." I knew it must've been serious. Daddy has the biggest mouth of anybody I know, and if he said to be quiet, I needed to be quiet. I hope somebody had the talk with Khalil.

Been having a fight with your blankets, Septimus?" A familiar voice echoed down the chimney. "Looks like you lost," the voice continued with a chuckle. "Not wise to take on a pair of blankets, lad. One, maybe, but two blankets always gang up on you. Vicious things, blankets.

Septimus was suddenly horribly afraid that the Antidote would not work. He glanced nervously at Marcia, who whispered, "It will work, Septimus. You must believe in it." Physik isn't like Magyk," said Septimus unhappily. "It doesn't matter whether you expect it to work or not. Either it does or it doesn't." "I doubt that very much," said Marcia. "A little belief in something always helps.

I really like Septimus Heap. he is my favorite guy in the story. I should make you all read it.

Life was simple when you were a Shield Bug.

You gotta love people enough to let them go, especially when you're the reason they're gone.

I've always had this theory that God is a sitcom writer who loves to put me in ridiculous situations.

She still sighed out her answer, though. “Fine. I’ll go.” “Now, darlin’. I know I’m pulling you away from playing grab ass with my oldest boy on his nice hardwood floor…” Angie barely stopped herself from spitting out her mouthful of coffee. “But if he’s anything like his daddy, trust me, he’ll still be here when you get back.

No, they're not starbusts." He continued to touch each mark. "They're angel kisses. It's like angels kissed your hands all over." His eyes rose to meet hers. They were filled with kindness and compassion. Something she had felt little of the past year. (Peter)

Living your life based off what other people think, ain’t living at all.

I'd ask him if he wished he shot me too.

The truth casts a shadow over the kitchen—people like us in situations like this become hashtags, but they rarely get justice. I think we all wait for that one time though, that one time when it ends right.

It is kinda messed up. Here my brother is, doing everything right, and nothing's coming from it. Meanwhile, Aunt Pooh's doing everything we've been told not to do, and she's giving us food when we need it. That's how it goes though. The drug dealers in my neighborhood aren't struggling. Everybody else is.

Remember that summer you liked that girl who worked at the boardwalk? Angie?” “No,” he said, but I knew he was lying. “What about her?” “Did you ever hook up with her?” Conrad finally lifted his head up from the couch. “No,” he said. “I don’t believe you.” “I tried, once. But she socked me in the head and said she wasn’t that kind of girl.I think she was a Jehovah’s Witness or something.

God gave you a brain. You don't need theirs.

But that was the way life worked. Every human being was the result of a million different factors mixing together -- one of a million sperm arriving at the egg at exactly a certain time; even a millisecond off, and another entirely different person would result. Good things and bad--every friendship and romance formed, every accident, every illness--resulted from the conspiracy of hundreds of little things, in and of themselves inconsequential.

That's the hate they're giving us, baby, a system designed against us. That's Thug Life.

Once upon a time there was a hazel-eyed boy with dimples. I called him Khalil. The world called him a thug.

There's no way the new chimney will fall down, Lu. Not with you in charge. It wouldn't dare.

My two worlds just collided. Surprisingly, everything's all right.

Why?” breathed Boy 412. “Why me?” “You have astonishing Magykal power. I told you before. Maybe now you’ll believe me.” She smiled. “I—I thought the power came from the ring.” “No. It comes from you. Don’t forget, the Dragon Boat recognized you even without the ring. She knew. Remember, it was last worn by Hotep-Ra, the first ExtraOrdinary Wizard. It’s been waiting a long time to find someone like him.” “But that’s because it’s been stuck in a secret tunnel for hundreds of years.” “Not necessarily,” said Marcia mysteriously. “Things have a habit of working out, you know. Eventually.

Pentru că au sâni rotunzi, cu gurguie care se ridică prin bluză când le e frig, pentru că au fundul mare şi grăsuţ, pentru că au feţe cu trăsături dulci ca ale copiilor, pentru că au buze pline, dinţi decenţi şi limbi de care nu ţi-e silă. Pentru că nu miros a transpiraţie sau a tutun prost şi nu asudă pe buza superioară. Pentru că le zâmbesc tuturor copiilor mici care trec pe lângă ele. Pentru că merg pe stradă drepte, cu capul sus, cu umerii traşi înapoi şi nu răspund privirii tale când le fixezi ca un maniac. Pentru că trec cu un curaj neaşteptat peste toate servitutile anatomiei lor delicate. Pentru că în pat sunt îndrăzneţe şi inventive nu din perversitate, ci ca să-ţi arate că te iubesc. Pentru că fac toate treburile sâcâitoare şi mărunte din casă fără să se laude cu asta şi fără să ceară recunoştinţă. Pentru că nu citesc reviste porno şi nu navighează pe site-uri porno. Pentru că poartă tot soiul de zdrăngănele pe care şi le asortează la îmbrăcăminte după reguli complicate şi de neînţeles. Pentru că îşi desenează şi-şi pictează feţele cu atenţia concentrată a unui artist inspirat. Pentru că au obsesia pentru subţirime a lui Giacometti. Pentru că se trag din fetiţe. Pentru că-şi ojează unghiile de la picioare. Pentru că joacă şah, whist sau ping-pong fără sa le intereseze cine câştigă. Pentru că şofează prudent în maşini lustruite ca nişte bomboane, aşteptând să le admiri când sunt oprite la stop şi treci pe zebră prin faţa lor. Pentru că au un fel de-a rezolva probleme care te scoate din minţi. Pentru că au un fel de-a gândi care te scoate din minţi. Pentru că-ţi spun „te iubesc” exact atunci când te iubesc mai puţin, ca un fel de compensaţie. Pentru că nu se masturbează. Pentru că au din când în când mici suferinţe: o durere reumatică, o constipaţie, o bătătură, şi-atunci îţi dai seama deodată că femeile sunt oameni, oameni ca şi tine. Pentru că scriu fie extrem de delicat, colecţionând mici observaţii şi schiţând subtile nuanţe psihologice, fie brutal şi scatologic ca nu cumva să fie suspectate de literatură feminină. Pentru că sunt extraordinare cititoare, pentru care se scriu trei sferturi din poezia şi proza lumii. Pentru că le înnebuneşte „Angie” al Rolling-ilor. Pentru că le termină Cohen. Pentru că poartă un război total şi inexplicabil contra gândacilor de bucătărie. Pentru că până şi cea mai dură bussiness woman poartă chiloţi cu înduioşătoare floricele şi danteluţe. Pentru că e aşa de ciudat să-ntinzi la uscat, pe balcon, chiloţii femeii tale, nişte lucruşoare umede, negre, roşii şi albe, parte satinate, parte aspre, mirându-te ce mici suprafeţe au de acoperit. Pentru că în filme nu fac duş niciodată înainte de-a face dragoste, dar numai în filme. Pentru că niciodată n-ajungi cu ele la un acord în privinţa frumuseţii altei femei sau a altui bărbat. Pentru că iau viaţa în serios, pentru că par să creadă cu adevărat în realitate. Pentru că le interesează cu adevărat cine cu cine s-a mai cuplat dintre vedetele de televiziune. Pentru că ţin minte numele actriţelor şi actorilor din filme, chiar ale celor mai obscuri. Pentru că dacă nu e supus nici unei hormonizări embrionul se dezvoltă întotdeauna într-o femeie. Pentru că nu se gândesc cum să i-o tragă tipului drăguţ pe care-l văd în troleibuz. Pentru că beau porcării ca Martini Orange, Gin Tonic sau Vanilia Coke. Pentru că nu-ţi pun mâna pe fund decât în reclame. Pentru că nu le excită ideea de viol decât în mintea bărbaţilor. Pentru că sunt blonde, brune, roşcate, dulci, futeşe, calde, drăgălaşe, pentru că au de fiecare dată orgasm. Pentru că dacă n-au orgasm nu îl mimează. Pentru că momentul cel mai frumos al zilei e cafeaua de dimineaţă, când timp de o oră ronţăiţi biscuiţi şi puneţi ziua la cale. Pentru că sunt femei, pentru că nu sunt bărbaţi, nici altceva. Pentru că din ele-am ieşit şi-n ele ne-ntoarcem, şi mintea noastră se roteşte ca o planetă greoaie, mereu şi mereu, numai în jurul lor.