Best 3577 quotes in «white quotes» category

I can't describe the feeling when I go down - it's down down down and there's never going to be an up again. And whatever was good isn't good any more; white becomes grey, music becomes dictionaries, honey becomes beer and the sky a curdled lemon. There's no caramel anymore.

I can't go white, Indian, Asian, Latin. For me, in my existence, if I'm anything, I'm inclusive of everyone, and we are just one, and I hope that global harmony is in all of us.

I can't have white roses. They symbolize death.

I can't really criticize the Tea Party people, because I came into the White House pretty much on the same basis that they have become popular. That is dissatisfaction with the way things are going in Washington and disillusionment and disencouragement about the government.

I can't record in the morning because I sound like Barry White.

I can't tell you, I couldn't put a number on it, but it's big, the number of white voters in America that voted for Obama thinking it was the end of racial strife. Thinking by electing a black, that America would be stating, "We're not racist anymore." And I warned everybody, "It's not gonna happen, it's gonna get worse. It's going to get worse." And it was, it did become worst.

I can't take any more white boys noodling around on their guitars.

I can understand how someone might read wearing a blonde wig as a desire to be white, but I suspect that the same shaming smirk can happen if you wear a big afro or any number of other hairstyles.

I can well imagine an athiest's last words: "White, white! L-L-Love! My God!" - and the deathbed leap of faith. Whereas the agnostic, if he stays true to his reasonable self, if he stays beholden to dry, yeastless factuality, might try to explain the warm light bathing him by saying "Possibly a f-f-failing oxygenation of the b-b-brain," and, to the very end, lack imagination and miss the better story.

I carry a knife now because I read in a white magazine that all black people carry knives. So I rushed out and bought me one.

I challenge Hillary Clinton; take away your Secret Service. Take it away now! Take away your Secret Service! Dismiss them! Have no security around you. Have no guns around you, Hillary. I dare you! I dare you! Obama, same thing. Drop your guns, Obama! Take your Secret Service away, Obama. Take it all away! Leave the White House unguarded, Obama. Let everybody know there's no guns on the White House grounds, Obama. You know what would happen in 30 seconds? Both of those people would no longer be on planet Earth.

I, Charles W. Penrose, wrote the Manifesto with the assistance of Frank J. Cannon and John White... Wilford Woodruff signed it to beat the devil at his own game.

I changed those things that were in direct - my direct control. I mean, I - look, I'm proud of the fact that, with two weeks to go, we're probably the first administration in modern history that hasn't had a major scandal in the White House.

I come from a family of communist nudists. I was allowed to do or not do what I liked. My parents were not interested in whether I went to school or got drunk on white wine.

I climbed a path and from the top looked up-stream towards Chile. I could see the river, glinting and sliding through the bone-white cliffs with strips of emerald cultivation either side. Away from the cliffs was the desert. There was no sound but the wind, whirring through thorns and whistling through dead grass, and no other sign of life but a hawk, and a black beetle easing over white stones.

I come from Yorkshire in England where we like to eat chip sandwiches - white bread, butter, tomato ketchup and big fat french fries cooked in beef dripping.

I come prepared with the white suit and stethoscope, Listen to your heartbeat, delete beep beep BEEP. Your insurance is high, but my price is cheap.

I could have screamed, but I didn’t. I could have fought, but I didn’t. I just lay there and let it happen, watching the winter-white sky go gray above me.

I couldn't be a White Sox fan because that was like being a Mets or a Yankees fan.

I could only relax when there was just one tiny white last spot left. I could see more clearly. I could grasp the shape of the picture again... The pictures are alive because of the white remnant, the almost concealment.

I crave white on white and black, but my thoughts race in glorious technicolour, prodding me awake, whipping away the warm blanket of invisibility every time it sears to smother my mind in nothing.

I could see myself in a white nurse's uniform, working unnoticed for many years and at last dying, unknown, unmarried and unsung.

I could tell Hugo was convinced that he would get to walk back up these stairs: after all, he was a civilized person. These were all civilized people. Hugo really couldn't imagine that anything irreparable could happen to him, because he was a middle-class white American with a college education, as were all the people on the stairs with us. I had no such conviction. I was not a wholly civilized person.

I could only wonder again at the white race's naïveté in always sending forth our worst members as our emissaries.

I'd become sort of involved in things that were happening to people. No matter what color they be, whether they be Indians, or Negroes, the poor white person or anyone who was I thought more or less getting a bad shake.

I definitely have a Google obsession of Juliette Binoche. I'm obsessed. I'll read everything she's ever said. I can tell you anything you want to know about Juliette Binoche, or Jack White. Those are my two creepy obsessions.

I decided to read something I normally hate: a cosy mystery. You know one of those mysteries where everything is tidily wrapped up at the end and everyone lives happily ever after? An Agatha Christie kind of mystery. They are so not my thing. But then someone was raving about Barbara Neely's Blanche White books and they sounded interesting.

I’d given up on the white picket fence after Kisten had died—finding out my kids would be demons was the nail in the coffin.

I'd heard of really bad things Klan folks did to Negroes. Mean, hateful, deadly things. I didn't know they were hateful toward white folks too.

I'd grown up fearing the lynch mobs of the Ku Klux Klan; as an adult I was starting to wonder if I'd been afraid of the wrong white people all along - where I was being pursued not by bigots in white robes, but by left-wing zealots draped in flowing sanctimony.

I detest 'Jingle Bells,' 'White Christmas,' 'Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer,' and the obscene spending bonanza that nowadays seems to occupy not just December, but November and much of October, too.

I didn't even like white wine. Then I tasted it and bought a case. It was the first case of any wine I'd ever bought.

I didn't feel like it was essential to have a white host or a black host, I wanted a good host.

I did not see the sense in chasing a little white ball around a field.

I did not disregard my culture, if I did, it was the white American culture, and I accepted my true culture, when I accepted Mohammed Ali, because this is a black name, Islam is the black man's religion, and so I would like to say, that I would like to clarify that point that I reclaimed my real culture, and that's being a black man and wearing a black name with a black body, and not a white name, so I would never say that I didn't disown my culture.

I did not like the way I looked in a pair of white pants.

I didn't like the way it looked in white trousers, and I couldn't find anything to work underneath them.

I'd like to describe a sort of life 20 years ago as being a fried egg. There was a yolk and a white and the white was maybe work, and the yolk was life. Today, it's more of an omelet. It's more mixed and it's more interspersed and I think that that's a more interesting state of being and for some people, they'll say well I want the crisp, fried egg approach to life.

I'd imagine my wedding as a fairy tale... huge, beautiful and white.

I'd make a White Stripes record right now. I'd be in the White Stripes for the rest of my life. That band is the most challenging, important, fulfilling thing ever to happen to me. I wish it was still here. It's something I really, really miss.

I didn't want to give the white reader an opportunity to think of racism as imaginary - a sentiment that is already a central barrier in addressing the problem.

I dissolved, so white, so unapproachable, amid my white flame, in the whiteness of moonlight

I do dig the White Stripes. I like the record they have out now.

I do feel it's crucial that women's opinions be taken equally with men's. But still'I have not been accepted by the American white feminist writers and activists, and frankly I don't care to be, so I am a womanist. I am feisty and I am given to womanish behavior.

I do know that a law professor there [in Columbia University] published an article calling me a white supremacist.

I do know enough about economics - and so do you - to understand that the 'stimulus program' of Barack Obama and his ravenous parasitic hordes, supposedly designed to 'repair' America's broken economy, reveals him to be unimaginably stupid, gibberingly insane, or simply the biggest, most barefaced criminal thug ever to occupy the White House. And that's saying a lot.

I do not expect the white media to create positive black male images.

I do not know myself how I paint it. I sit down with a white board before the spot that strikes me. I look at what is before my eyes, and say to myself, that white board must become something.

I do not recall ever receiving a suggestion, let alone an order, from the White House as to how I should make a regulatory decision. How times have changed.

I do not have a single white note on my piano; my elephant smoked too much.