Angie Thomas Quotes

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

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.

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'.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Be roses that grow in the concrete.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

Besties before testes.

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.

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.

Something to live for, something to die for.

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.

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.

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 need Saturday to recover and Sunday to repent.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

like to be reminded that beauty can come from much of nothing. To me that’s the whole point of flowers.

I'm tired of hearing about all these fucked-up white people who did a bunch of fucked-up stuff, yet people wanna call them heroes

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.

Look, you can't be worried about what folks think... There will always be someone with something to say, but it doesn't mean you gotta listen.

I don't have to wait around for her to change. I can let go.

Keep Pushing Mav," Rico Says ," Tough situations don't last. Tough People Do.

Are you serious right now?” Hailey asks. “What’s wrong with saying his life matters too?” “His life always matters more!” My voice is gruff, and my throat is tight. “That’s the problem!” “Starr!

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

It's like a 'Fragile' sticker's on my forehead, and instead of taking a chance and saying something that might break me, they'd rather say nothing at all. But the silence is worst.

But I'm tired of them just assuming.

What the hell? I swear, this shit is like quicksand—the harder we try to get out, the harder it is to get out.

I'm more of a "yes, people exist, but that doesn't mean I need to talk to them" person.

This is Popkenchurch. Popkenchurch is when you buy fried chicken and Cajun rice from Popeyes, biscuits from KFC, and fried okra and corn on the cob from Church’s.

Some things I can't reveal, like Natasha. One you've seen how broken someone is it's like seeing them naked—you can't look at them the same anymore.

But there’s only so long you can blame what you’ve been through for what you do. At some point, you gotta blame yourself.

I look at the stars again. Daddy says he named me Starr because I was his light in the darkness. I need some light in my own darkness right about now.

Your heart will never lead you wrong, but it can be hard to hear it. You have to give it space to speak. That’s a form of love too.

I never know which Starr I should be. I can use some slang, but not too much slang, some attitude, but not too much attitude, so I’m not a 'sassy black girl.' I have to watch what I say and how I say it, but I can’t sound 'white.

And I think you're brilliant, talented, courageous, beautiful. You're my miracle. But you're the only one who can say who you are with authority. So, who are you?

But you just choose because that's where you want to be. Not because you were trying to do somebody else's job. You hear me?

The world got some nerve going on without him. People laughing and dreaming when Dre can't.

They act like I’m the official representative of the black race and they owe me an explanation. I think I understand though. If I sit out a protest, I’m making a statement, but if they sit out a protest, they look racist.

Sometimes she's my personal Yoda. If Yoda was a woman and had a gold grill. Unfortunately, she doesn't know who Yoda is.

Hoedom is universal.

Loving you isn't enough. Being hard on you isn't enough. I haven't been enough.

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.

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.

Even if he was, I knew that boy. Watched him grow up with you. He was more than any bad decision he made,” he says. “I hate that I let myself fall into that mind-set of trying to rationalize his death. And at the end of the day, you don’t kill someone for opening a car door.

You have to decide if the relationship is worth salvaging. Make a list of the good stuff, then made a list of the bad stuff. If one outweighs the other, then you know what you gotta do. Trust me, that method hasn't failed me yet. . . . What if the good doesn't outweigh the bad? . . . Then let her go. And if you keep her in your life and she keeps doing the bad, let her go.

Daddy, you’re the worst person to watch Harry Potter with. The whole time you’re talking about”—I deepen my voice—“‘Why don’t they shoot that nigga Voldemort?’” “Ay, it don’t make sense that in all them movies and books, nobody thought to shoot him.” “If it’s not that,” Momma says, “you’re giving your ‘Harry Potter is about gangs’ theory.” “It is!” he says. Okay, so it is a good theory. 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. “Y’all know that make a lot of sense,” Daddy says. “Just ’cause they was in England don’t mean they wasn’t gangbanging.” He looks at me. “So you down to hang out with your old man today or what?

My apologies, see, I forgot my manners. I get on the mic ’cause it’s my life. You show off for girls and cameras. You a pop star, not a rapper. A Vanilla Ice or a Hammer. Y’all hear this crap he dumping out? Somebody get him a Pamper. And a crown for me. The best have heard about me. You can only spell “brilliant” by first spelling Bri. You see, naturally, I do my shit with perfection. Better call a bodyguard ’cause you gon’ need some protection, And on this here election, the people crown a new leader. You didn’t see this coming, and your ghostwriters didn’t either. I came here to ether. I’m sorry to do this to you. This is no longer a battle, it’s your funeral, boo. I’m murdering you. On my corner they call me coroner, I’m warning ya. Tell the truth, this dude is borin’ ya. You confused like a foreigner. I’ll explain with ease: You’re just a casualty in the reality of the madness of Bri. No fallacies, I spit maladies, causin’ fatalities, And do it casually, damaging rappers without bandaging. Imagining managing my own label, my own salary. And actually, factually, there’s no MC that’s as bad as me. Milez? That’s cute. But it don’t make me cower. I move at light speed, you stuck at per hour. You spit like a lisp. I spit like a high power. Bri’s the future, and you Today like Matt Lauer. You coward. But you’re a G? It ain’t convincing to me. You talk about your clothes, about your shopping sprees. You talk about your Glock, about your i-c-e. But in this here ring, they all talking ’bout me, Bri!

A’ight, so what do you think it means?” “You don’t know?” I ask. “I know. I wanna hear what YOU think.” Here he goes. Picking my brain. “Khalil said it’s about what society feeds us as youth and how it comes back and bites them later,” I say. “I think it’s about more than youth though. I think it’s about us, period.” “Us who?” he asks. “Black people, minorities, poor people. Everybody at the bottom in society.” “The oppressed,” says Daddy. “Yeah. We’re the ones who get the short end of the stick, but we’re the ones they fear the most. That’s why the government targeted the Black Panthers, right? Because they were scared of the Panthers?” “Uh-huh,” Daddy says. “The Panthers educated and empowered the people. That tactic of empowering the oppressed goes even further back than the Panthers though. Name one.” Is he serious? He always makes me think. This one takes me a second. “The slave rebellion of 1831,” I say. “Nat Turner empowered and educated other slaves, and it led to one of the biggest slave revolts in history.” “A’ight, a’ight. You on it.” He gives me dap. “So, what’s the hate they’re giving the ‘little infants’ in today’s society?” “Racism?” “You gotta get a li’l more detailed than that. Think ’bout Khalil and his whole situation. Before he died.” “He was a drug dealer.” It hurts to say that. “And possibly a gang member.” “Why was he a drug dealer? Why are so many people in our neighborhood drug dealers?” I remember what Khalil said—he got tired of choosing between lights and food. “They need money,” I say. “And they don’t have a lot of other ways to get it.” “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 than it is to 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 to 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.