S C Lourie Quotes

Just for the record darling, not all positive change feels positive in the beginning.

Breathe, darling. This is just a chapter. It's not your whole story.

Be confused, it’s where you begin to learn new things. Be broken, it’s where you begin to heal. Be frustrated, it’s where you start to make more authentic decisions. Be sad, because if we are brave enough we can hear our heart’s wisdom through it. Be whatever you are right now. No more hiding. You are worthy, always.

Honor that girl inside of you. Remember who you were before you cared what you look like. Before you knew the sting of rejection. Before you were told that you couldn’t, or that you weren’t or that you hadn’t. You are still that girl - before the roles, the labels, the pains, that girl lives on. She is the goddess within you.

[Speaking with John McWhorter] I take umbrage at the lionisation of lightweight, empty-suited, empty-headed motherfuckers like Ibram X. Kendi. Who couldn't carry my book bag. He hasn't read a fucking thing. If you ask him what Nietzsche said, he would have no idea. He's an unserious, superficial, empty-suited, lightweight - he's not our equal, not even close.

One day, someone so close to you will see you crack under pressure. They'll watch you fall to pieces on the floor and come and sit so close next to you They won't pick up your pieces They'll leave them as they are and make you feel loved and felt and seen, in your puddle of mud and mess, regardless. They'll make you feel like you don't have to clean anything up, like you don't have to hide any of these pieces away again Because you don't Because it's those same pieces that make you so damn lovable.

Il telescopio completò la sua inclinazione, ribaltandomi al punto che mi trovai a faccia in giù, e vidi su cosa davano i portelli aperti, su cosa stavo penzolando. C’era lava sotto di noi, un cratere pieno, arancio e rosso ardenti, e nella lava c’erano donne, che tendevano le dita per toccare il metallo del telescopio, premendoci contro le unghie. Vidi le radici incandescenti del mondo, e il modo in cui le donne ci si erano aggrovigliate, le bocche aperte, un mormorio assordante come il vento che sradica gli alberi. Vidi la moglie del signor Loury, la sua versione in pellicola Kodachrome, la pelle bianca e i capelli luminosi, gli occhi grandi e bistrati dalle ciglia finte. Mancavano gli occhiali da sole che portava sempre. Era nuda, le lunghe braccia attaccate con ferocia e coperte di vesciche, le costole scarne e le anche sporgenti. Vieni qui, disse, muovendo le labbra senza produrre suono, e il suo rossetto era perfetto. Altre madri erano lì, e le conoscevo. Ero stata ai loro funerali ed ero andata a scuola con i loro figli abbandonati. Avevo visto le X dove loro non c’erano. Vidi tutte le donne morte al centro della terra, e poi le vidi tendere le braccia verso l’alto dove io penzolavo. Vidi la mia terza madre, e lei vide me.

The election of a black president was an achievement, but it belonged to the American populace, not to Obama himself. That we could progress from a nation that harbored a virtual apartheid regime within its borders to one with a black president within my lifetime was remarkable. But the figurehead chosen to carry the torch of racial progress to the pinnacle of the American political system was, in my mind, little more than a political operator, albeit a gifted one. I did not doubt that Barack Obama was intelligent, but his self-presentation as an icon of American blackness struck me as absurd. He had no real ties to the history of black people in this country. If you took his Kenyan father (who he never really knew) out of the equation, I could see nothing of the African American experience in his life. I couldn’t accept the idea that he represented, in his very being, the ascension of black Americans from slavery to full citizenship to prosperity. His endless touting of his ties to Chicago, with the implication that he was a product of the very same South Side that made me, only drove home that, while he understood how to convey “authenticity” to the American public at large, there was almost nothing real about the persona that he presented for the TV cameras. My uncle Moonie, I was quite sure, would have been singularly unmoved by Barack Hussein Obama’s act.