Interracial Love Quotes

Drink from the fountain of love where every drop is eternal passion.

There is something immensely scary about putting yourself out there for people to love or hate you, fan or pan you, review or screw you.

Be nice to his family. Pretend not to notice the way their house smells. Pretend to like their food. Mimic their barbaric customs at the dinner table.

Having something forbidden is exciting, don't you agree?

Life has so many tuneless days... what better posture to take than to become a whimsical motherfucker?

Through love, tribes have been intermixing colors to reveal a new rainbow world. And as more time passes, this racial and cultural blending will make it harder for humans to side with one race, nation or religion over another.

The standard of matrimony is erected by affection and purity, and does not depend upon the height, or bulk, or color, or wealth, or poverty of individuals. Water will seek its level; nature will have free course; and heart will answer to heart.

He utterly honored his sorrow, gave in to it with such deep and boundless weeping that it seemed as I stood there he was the bravest man I had ever known.

Don't think about that. Just believe I'll be okay.

I love it when a woman can emotionally bring her man to his knees, and when he, in turn, pushes her to and over the edge when they make love. Give me Romance, Sex, Love and HEAs. Always.

Eva burst out laughing, remembering the complete wardrobe makeover she'd had to perform on Alexei after she opened his closet and found some of the busiest open-collared, polyester dress shirts known to man.

It's not how long you see something. It's how you intensely you feel it" From Central Park Song: a Screenplay

Prince Harry marrying Meghan Markle says more about him than any historian could ever write.

Black is bountiful. White is witful. Together they are beautiful.

Funny thing about love, ain’t it? Sometimes it saves you and sometimes, like right then, even love isn’t enough.

Our minds are intricate. Our desires are complex. We are gorgeously contradictory in our epistemologies. We were not invented yesterday. Kathleen

People look at interracial couples through their own, distorting racial lens. It doesn't matter what form they take.

Sometimes you have to endure what you hate in order to accomplish what you love.

He controlled her with each thrust, damn near stamping his name on her privates-in all caps, bolded, so she'd never forget who it belonged to.

...later she would laugh when she discovered that meaninglessness came from the dark shaft of gloom that surrounded her day and night, and that ecstasy was just a sunny room away.

Everyone needs beauty. Even beautiful people" From "Central Park Song

Love never asks you to erase your past, Love never attempts to erase your identity. Love accepts your past and expands your present, Love embraces you as you, and empowers your identity.

And I know, I’m sitting here next to my white best friend but it’s almost as if I giving Khalil, Daddy, Seven, and every other black guy in my life a big, loud “fuck you” by having a white boyfriend.

Brielle suddenly felt her libido skittering across an ice-covered pond, heading for impact. And on the other side of that pond was Matthew Montgomery, the immovable object, preparing to break her fall.

Because, you know, a colored woman with class is still an exceptional creature; and a colored woman with class, style, poetry, taste, elegance, repartee, and haute cuisine is an almost nonexistent species.

MASSIMO: "After all I have done, to have you love me is nothing less than a miracle." BELINDA: He was wrong. Loving him was the easiest thing in the world. That they’d found each other after their respective histories was the miracle.

Damn, she better get her imagination under control or she was going to be in trouble. She stole another glance in his direction, her eyes locked onto the bulge in his lap. Well lookie there. Maybe I’m not the only one having carnal thoughts

I cannot choose for you,” he said, “for choosing a bride is like making a bowl of akamu. If someone makes it poorly, you will blame him for the rest of your life; but if you make it yourself, you will drink it without complaining, whatever the outcome.

We needed to be autodidacts; we needed to pass books from hand to hand; we needed to search, and thus be inspired by hard-won effort to create ourselves. We needed to understand that there is power in searching and finding and not having things handed to us.

Her father was an intimidating man who held fast to his belief in his African heritage; that black should not marry white to avoid racial confusion. She was in love with a white man whose mother wished to keep her family's heritage intact by not crossbreeding with another race.

Is it really true that the only good thing a Blackman can offer in a relationship with a white woman is thunderous sex? Of course, sex plays a vital healing role in every loving relationship. That is a fact of life. But, as we discover in the story of Glasgow Kiss, sex is not always the only thing that occupies a Blackman’s mind. On the contrary, when a man is as passionate, dedicated, committed and determined as Mamadu is to fight and hold onto his true love, irrespective of the numerous challenges he faces, he is able show that it is far more important to pay attention to his heartbeat than the growing erection in his trousers!

Body language translation: hell yes, dipshit

reality, the Mann Act was used to prevent interracial relationships. World champion heavyweight boxer Jack Johnson was prosecuted under the Mann Act for dating white women.

DURANTE: They are eighteen year olds in half centenarians’ bodies.

I love how Scarlett Avery has a way of making the stories come to life. —P brad

It was only sunlight she needed. Pure, delicious sunlight flooding through a room.)

India is going to face the biggest genital crisis, the only reason for which is not to have interracial marriages. At that time you will remember this sentence very much.

Like love, like gravity, sex can warp the fabric of time and space.

Intuitively, she sensed Leonardo’s gaze on her, and she caught sight of him near the entrance to the balcony. He was watching her, though he should have been engrossed in the conversation with the two other people with whom he was standing, one of which was the redhead. Even from that distance across the room, she could sense his desire for her, and there was an answering pounding of the blood in her veins as their gazes locked. Maybe it was the kiss between Russell and Joan and the romantic notion of long-lasting love, but Alexa found her thoughts straying to memories of sharing passionate kisses with Leonardo. She carefully placed her glass of wine on the table before it slipped from her damp fingers and crashed onto the expensive white carpet. She felt nervous and jittery because she knew the reason for Leonardo’s smoldering scrutiny. She was fully aware of what was expected of her, and she found herself breathlessly anticipating the end of the evening.

Ms. Scarlett always delivers hot, sexy alphas and this isn't any different. Holy smokes, is this ever HOT! Love her writing and the way she spins a story but adds the HOT factor. Her alphas are phenomenal! - JC

Oh my God, you thought, how life will take them apart, untangle them when they should be allowed to stay as they are, stay so deeply entwined, full of faith only in each other--oh, they should stay like that forever.

Swap out one of these men with the mute, and I’ll be right as rain,” Randy said from his spot near the kitchen entrance. “Thought we were besties,” Bride mumbled into the shot of rum she’d pilfered from Randy’s cabinet.

If you are white, you have an obligation to at least understand where the concept of whiteness comes from and to decide how you will proceed with that knowledge. I hope your journey will include an intentional choice to acquire dexterity.

As Amani frantically diced the ingredients for her Pan seared Mahi-Mahi with Mango Salsa, she recalled her first meeting with him during a class he taught on the presentation of food and organization the previous year. Amani had been immediately drawn to the tall, serious Californian, and not just because of his looks. With dark wavy hair, strong features and the deepest blue eyes she had ever seen short of Paul Newman’s, David Spencer was everything Amani admired in a man, and then some. http://omadisonpress.com/romance/all-...

Just as twenty-first century masters of the universe exploit workers, lobby for tax loopholes, and devise or reap profits from predatory business practices, [Thomas] Jefferson and his peers found it very hard to give up the unearned advantages of systems of exploitation.

...I don’t know why you’re sulking, I wasn’t going to give up my holiday to sit and nurse you from a break-up with a guy I told you not to deal with…He was your Gynaecologist for crying out loud. You don’t mix business with pleasure, and not with a man who knows more about your insides than you.

He rode home with her to New Jersey and she took him into the backyard to look at her father’s roses . . . to look at her childhood, to look at what pricked and stung and was difficult to forgive. He looked at the house and the yard and her family . . . And it seemed to her that everything changed. Was forgiven. The

I love… I love black women.” My first reaction was to laugh and then smile. “You see I love that when you smile. I love your lips and your cheekbones. I love the fullness and that everlasting youth. I love the colour and how it comes in so many shades but none grey. The spectrum of heavenly chocolate to golden honey is irresistible. I love the variety of your beauty.

Look at you Infidelity”, shaking his head in frustration. “I’m not sure if your choice of drug is passion, the thrill of the affair or the man himself, but there is a void you are trying to have us fulfill in your life and you are hooked! The secrets, the lies, the lame attempts to quit sleeping around…the isolation; don’t you get it? YOU LOVE INFIDELITY!" - Loving Infidelity

I don't know how you survived! I've been all over this bloody country and I swear to God, I don't know how you survived! This place is a million godforsaken times worse than South Africa! Christ, man, apartheid puts holes in our dignity but it leaves us our culture, man! We've still got our lifeline, our traditions... Christ Almighty, man, they didn't leave you a bloody thing! Not a bloody thing!

Some people refer to a ‘just war’ or a ‘war of necessity’ and others posit that it is simply an illusion to dignify war, no matter the circumstance. Having said that, the necessity or otherwise of war can be seen in the Igbo of Nigeria concept of ‘akwa aja ahụ ọgụ’. A man is thus bound to defend his ‘ama’ or territory and his manhood against any intruder, oppressor or aggressor or be regarded as a ‘woman’ by his people.

It wasn’t until 1967 that the United States Supreme Court finally struck down anti-miscegenation statutes in Loving v. Virginia, but restrictions on interracial marriage persisted even after that landmark ruling. Alabama’s state constitution still prohibited the practice in 1986 when Walter met Karen Kelly. Section 102 of the state constitution read: The legislature shall never pass any law to authorise or legalise any marriage between any white person and a Negro or descendant of a Negro.* No

We don't like to admit that the ideology of white supremacy, constructed and reified for centuries, is still with us in the expectations that many whites have. Ina social world in which whiteness is central, where white people have the luxury of thinking of themselves as individuals and never in racial terms, seeing or talking about race is unnecessary and often forbidden, except for intra-tribal talk about the problems of others. In this sense, people who profess themselves to be color-blind are disingenuous or deluding themselves

Where did the idea that interracial relationships are incompatible with the fight for equality come from? My white husband doesn’t make me any less black, or any less dedicated to the fight for racial justice—just as being married to a man doesn’t make me any less of a feminist or passionate about women’s issues. Perhaps some forget that interracial marriage was at one time, not so long ago, a civil rights issue; it was illegal in many states until 1967, when the landmark Supreme Court case Loving v. Virginia determined that anti-miscegenation laws were unconstitutional

In Mississippi, where I lived from 1967 to 1974, people who challenged the system anticipated menace, battery, even murder, every day. In this context, I sometimes felt ashamed that my contributions at the time were not more radical. I taught in two local black colleges, I wrote about the Movement, and I created tiny history booklets which were used to teach the teachers of children enrolled in Head Start. And, of course, I was interracially married, which was illegal. It was perhaps in Mississippi during those years that I understood how the daily news of disaster can become, for the spirit, a numbing assault, and that one's own activism, however modest, fighting against this tide of death, provides at least the possibility of generating a different kind of "news." A "news" that empowers rather that defeats. There is always a moment in any kind of struggle when one feels in full bloom. Vivid. Alive. One might be blown to bits in such a moment and still be at peace. Martin Luther King, Jr., at the mountaintop. Gandhi dying with the name of God on his lips. Sojourner Truth baring her breasts at a women's rights convention in 1851. Harriet Tubman exposing her revolver to some of the slaves she had freed, who, fearing an unknown freedom, looks longingly backward to their captivity, thereby endangering the freedom of all. To be such a person or to witness anyone at this moment of transcendent presence is to know that what is human is linked, by a daring compassion, to what is divine. During my years of being close to people engaged in changing the world I have seen fear turn into courage. Sorrow into joy. Funerals into celebrations. Because whatever the consequences, people, standing side by side, have expressed who they really are, and that ultimately they believe in the love of the world and each other enough *to be that* - which is the foundation of activism. It has become a common feeling, I believe, as we have watched our heroes falling over the years, that our own small stone of activism, which might not seem to measure up to the rugged boulders of heroism we have so admired, is a paltry offering toward the building of an edifice of hope. Many who believe this choose to withhold their offerings out of shame. This is the tragedy of our world. For we can do nothing substantial toward changing our course on the planet, a destructive one, without rousing ourselves, individual by individual, and bringing our small, imperfect stones to the pile. In this regard, I have a story to tell.

Nothing in Scripture or orthodox theology precludes our opening the institution of marriage to same-gender couples. Those who oppose marriage equality for gay or lesbian couples, pleading for us not to “redefine” marriage, do not understand that gay marriage only builds up the traditional meaning of marriage. We are not changing its meaning but merely revising the list of those to whom it is available. Not unlike the rather recent opening of legal marriage to interracial couples, the legal marriage of two same-gender people retains the traditional meaning of marriage while expanding the number of people whom it may benefit.

Live life; love reading!

Lari got herself cleaned up from rooter to tooter

She noticed he was on his laptop and had THREE cell phones at one of the table’s seats.

That crisp white attire.  That cologne.   It made her want to do nasty, slutty, hood rat shit to his person.

This you right here?

there’s not too much in SoCal that isn’t beautiful.

But this girl never traveled without at least one toy, so if the urge hit, I’d bring my own romance.

[May] the olive of peace and brotherhood be embraced by the white man and the black, and their children, approached in feeling and education, gradually blend into one their blood and their hue.

Relationships are beautiful. Nurture them with trust and love. We support interracial dating and request everyone to go above skin color, or background.

In 1958, they [Richard Loving and Mildred Jeter] lived in the small town of Central Point, Virginia, where people every shade from the color of chamomile tea to summer midnight made their homes.

A wide-brimmed spinster’s hat had been thrown up in the sky. It was gradually falling into the deep ocean.

The word spinster, mixed with stifled laughter from the living room, picked her ear like a needle. Will I ever escape the culture of my faraway country? she wondered.

Until your love makes you leap beyond norms, it ain't love.

The truth is, I deserve to be here. I was as selfish as a woman could come, loving someone that did not love me. In the end, I cannot even say it was love.

I wish you would read me like you read your books every day.

My life doesn't taste right unless I'm tasting you with it. I love you, Brielle.

Why oh why do people still believe that interracial love (or sex) can end racism when thousands of years of heterosexual love and sex have quite obviously failed to end patriarchy?

They will pass the winter in this desultory fashion. The

any life dissected too closely was boring and could only make you fall asleep.

She could feel her skin turning darker while he lay there and stared at her; her hair felt not only short but unbelievably bushy.

In 1967, almost 100 years later, the US Supreme Court unanimously ruled in Loving v Virginia that the Constitution prohibited state laws against interracial marriage.

Her name was Sapienas. She was born from an interracial couple; her mother was part geofus and part cryo, and her father was part aviator and part therma, meaning that she was an extraterrestrial of all four races. As she was racially identified by all four, she was diligent in trying to find the cultural identities of each race. Sapienas used a web search to read about the characteristics of each race, only to discover the possibility that she was a representation of not just one, but all four stereotypes: for being part cryo, she lacked genuine passion, emotion, and love. For being part therma, she was negligent of preventing global warming and her existence only exacerbated the problem. For being part aviator, she lacked incisiveness. And, for being part geofus, she lacked technological expertise, couldn’t manipulate currency, and had a high chance of being illiterate.

This is especially poignant when one thinks about social fragmentation. So-called “interracial” adoption is a lovely thing in basic human terms. Yet not long ago, Ibram Kendi tweeted this amid media coverage of Supreme Court Justice nominee Amy Coney Barrett’s adoption of “black” children (two from Haiti): Some White colonizers “adopted” Black children. They “civilized” these “savage” children in the “superior” ways of White people, while using them as props in their lifelong pictures of denial, while cutting the biological parents of these children out of the picture of humanity.19 Kendi then argued that adopting such children in no way makes someone “not a racist”: And whether this is Barrett or not is not the point. It is a belief too many White people have: if they have or adopt a child of color, then they can’t be racist.20 A writer for Christianity Today, Sitara Roden, spoke of her own adoptive background in a positive way, but also agreed with Kendi’s perspective on bias: This is a conversation I’ve had with my own white family. Just because I am not white and a part of their family does not mean their implicit biases are any less real. How you view the nonwhite person in your family, that you might have raised, is bound to be a different valuation than

We walked home in the cold afternoon past Franklin Simon's windows, where the children of all nations revolved steadily in the light. Most of the stores were concentrating on the gift aspect of the Nativity, displaying frankincense, myrrh, and bath salts, but Franklin Simon advertised the Child Himself, along with a processional of other children of assorted races, lovely to behold. We stood and watched passers-by take in this international and interracial scene, done in terms of childhood, and we observed the gleam in the eyes of colored people as they spotted the little colored child in with the others. There hasn't been a Christmas like this one since the first Christmas--the fear, the suffering, the awe, the strange new light that nobody understands yet. All the traditional characteristics of Christmas are this year in reverse: instead of the warm grate and the happy child, in most parts of the world the cold room and the starveling. The soldiers of the triumphant armies return to their homes to find a hearty welcome but an unfamiliar air of uneasiness, uncertainty, and constraint. They find, too, that people are groping toward something which still has no name but which keeps turning up--in department-store windows and in every other sort of wistful human display. It is the theme concealed in the victory which the armies of the democracies won in the field, the yet unclaimed triumph: justice among men of all races, a world in which children (of whatever country) are warm and unafraid. It seems too bad that men are preparing to blow the earth to pieces just as they have got their hands on a really first-rate idea. Our Christmas greetings this year are directed to the men and women who will represent the people of the world at the meeting of the United Nations Organization in January. We send them best wishes and a remembrance of that first Christmas. Our hope is that they will shed the old robes which have adorned dignitaries for centuries and put on the new cloth that fits one man as well as another, no matter where he lives on this worried and all too shatterable earth.

Is it possible to imagine any greater amputation, any greater karmic debt, than reincarnation as a Negro?

Louise lives on excellent terms with her solitude.

He remembers everything. He has a perfect smell for death and pain, the thousand and one slights that have colored his life, the happiness snatched before he could taste it. He perseveres and remembers.

And every Wednesday at five o'clock she sat for an hour and unburdened herself on a very sleepy psychiatrist, whose continual dozing was a sure sign that not only was she boring, but that any life dissected too closely was boring and could only make you fall asleep.

The South must be a terrible place.

To be so nurtured; to know day after day only comfort, love; to feel your home a happy place where joy and justice meet--this has always seemed to me the greatest gift imaginable.

I was never a pleasure to have around ... too moody ... an intimidating nuisance flyleafing his way across time on a whim, any old whim ...

... then came a period when nothing soothed me ... there was no balm in the festive herbal splendor of my kitchen, no balm in the exhaustive evening showers before and after the Brooklyn Bridge excursion ... the waking hours weighted themselves between my legs, and there was no relief in sight .. I took to the reading of memoirs ... it was one of my finer moments when I discovered that no human life escapes the tribulation of solitude ...

It's 1963: we're in the year of prophetic fulfillment. The last revival meeting is at hand, where the sons took up the cross of the fathers. White sons went forth to the dirt roads of Georgia and Alabama to prove to their fathers that the melting pot could still melt. "Negro" sons went forth to the Woolworths and Grants and Greyhounds of America to prove to their fathers that they could eat and sit and ride as well in the front as in the back, as well seated as standing.

It is a time that calls forth the most picturesque of metaphors, for we are swimming along in the mythical underbelly of America ... there where it is soft and prickly, where you may rub your nose against the grainy sands of illusion and come up bleeding.

He raised himself onto his elbow, his temple cradled in his hand. “I won’t bite. Well, unless you want me to.” Butterflies thrashed against my insides at the thought of his lips on my body. I suddenly burst into laughter. “Remember what happened the last time you tried to bite me? I accidentally jumped and backhanded you.” That had been an erotic rendezvous, until he nipped my hip. He dropped his face into the pillow and groaned. “Mood killer.” “Heh.” I wiggled deeper into the covers, grinning.

...there is no easy way to articulate what it means for your loved ones to worry that your person's ability to love you is limited by their inability to comprehend many of your lived experiences.

English is my work language, Turkish is my love language, Spanish is my play language, Telugu is my leisure language. This would probably be different for you - perhaps for you, it all happens in one language - English, and that's perfectly fine. Different people are inspired in different ways - it's alright - as long as all our inspirations converge into one result - a better world for all - where there is no interracial dialogue, there is no intercultural communication, there is no interreligious relations - because - there is but one race, humanity - there is but one culture, humanity - there is but one religion, humanity.

but I wouldn’t give up my place in heaven just to claw my way back to purgatory unless it’s where I’ll find you.

I hate fights … fights and working both make me sick.

I love all Scarlett Avery's books. This one included. - Kathleen

Finishing up my bath, I wrapped myself in a towel upon getting out of the shower. I went over to the mirror that was fogged from the steam in the atmosphere. With my hand, I swiped over it to get a full view of my face. I just stood there and stared at myself. I barely even recognized the woman I was looking at, anymore. I looked like a woman whose nose got opened up. I was feeling myself and didn’t know how to stop it. I was changing for the worst, and it wasn’t fair to my husband or the life-long vows we made to each other. What I was doing wasn’t an act of death, but if I didn’t stop, it would certainly due us apart. *I guess this is what happens when the flesh wants what it wants.* _Bijou La Valentna, I Don't Wanna Be A Murderer

Finishing up my bath, I wrapped myself in a towel upon getting out of the shower. I went over to the mirror that was fogged from the steam in the atmosphere. With my hand, I swiped over it to get a full view of my face. I just stood there and stared at myself. I barely even recognized the woman I was looking at, anymore. I looked like a woman whose nose got opened up. I was feeling myself and didn’t know how to stop it. I was changing for the worst, and it wasn’t fair to my husband or the life-long vows we made to each other. What I was doing wasn’t an act of death, but if I didn’t stop, it would certainly due us apart.' *I guess this is what happens when the flesh wants what it wants.*

In 2015, nearly one hundred Canadian, Dutch, Irish, German, and English citizens came to America to adopt black children. Whatever forms of othering may be going on in their countries, they are not infected with American anti-black bias that coursed from Virginia's legal codes in the seventeenth century through the supremacist regimes of later ages to the subconscious of far too many Americans in the twenty-first.

The more intimate the setting, the greater the challenges of diversity. Adopted children, for example, often report they never felt they fit in. In a British study of adults who were adopted as children, 46 percent of whites adopted by whites said they felt a sense of not belonging. For non-whites adopted by whites, the figure rose to close to 75 percent. Researchers reported that their constant refrain was, “Love is not enough.” There can be worse: The authors of a 2005 study on domestic violence in the United States reached the sobering conclusion that “the incidence of spousal homicide is 7.7 times higher in interracial marriages compared to intraracial marriages.” One study for the period 1979 to 1981 found that white men who married black women were 21.4 times more likely to be killed by their spouses than white men who married white women. A white woman increased her risk of being killed 12.4 times by marrying a black man. Marrying a white did not appreciably change a black person’s risk of being killed by his or her spouse.