Best 44 quotes in «multicultural quotes» category

Working your whole life wondering where the day went, the subway stays packed like a multicultural slaveship.

Shakespeare is the true multicultural author. He exists in all languages. He is put on the stage everywhere. Everyone feels that they are represented by him on the stage.

Toronto is a very multicultural city, a place of immigrants, like my parents.

We live in the most multicultural, multiracial, multiethnic America ever, and I get the sense that because of that reality so many of us are turning nativist.

A fish only discovers its need for water when it is no longer in it. Our own culture is like water to a fish. It sustains us.

A book written within, contains ideas and thoughts from all over, where each page explains itself.

David Hudson was rising in the political field. As a senator from New York, he had it all – good looks, a well-known family name and the finances to go with it, but for David, it was never enough. He graduated from an Ivy League school at the top of his class, and his parents were political royalty in America so he grew up in the spotlight with all of the luxuries one could imagine.

Although people all over the world pray in different ways, it is to each heart the most precious light.

As a first-generation Ethiopian immigrant, Sheba had lived in Charleston since she turned five years of age. She was Ethiopian by birth, but American by preference. She had worked hard, studied and sacrificed plenty to get where she was today, no easy feat for someone who had just celebrated her twenty-sixth birthday. According to her friends, Sheba was a beauty, though when she looked in the mirror, she saw inevitable flaws; her cheekbones were too pronounced, her mouth a little too wide, her nose with that perturbing slant to it. Still, she accepted compliments gratefully, especially from her roommate, Janelle. Janelle was the true beauty, Sheba thought, with dark ebony skin so smooth that she could be a walking ad for Ghirardelli Dark Chocolate.

A soul could be resurrected and re-born to another body, its memories restored, but once the house it belonged to had been emptied, they could no longer call it home."~Taznikos Abyssos

Boy oh boy, this man is trouble. He was slowly tearing down the wall she’d built around her heart, brick by brick. Could any man be this perfect? He must have some faults. Maybe he is a chauvinist pig…no, doesn’t seem like it. He is kind to animals and children, he is a fireman, he looks like sex on a stick. What could be wrong with him? Maybe he snores. Oh, wouldn’t I like to find out?

Dammit.” I whispered, looking at the digital clock on my wall, which read 6 a.m. I cursed the clock and got out of bed. Sleep’s one of the few joys I in my life, and I never had enough of it. I glanced up at my Sailor Moon Crystal calendar that hung from my bathroom door and groaned. Three more weeks remained before Thanksgiving break, plus today’s Monday which meant Vamp Day. I groaned again as I entered the bathroom and began to get ready for school. Every Monday, our local ETF police-the Eidolon Task Force -made unannounced visits to the homes of eidolon residents. They take blood samples from us and our human relatives, hence why we prefer to call them vamps. The official reason quoted was to “watch and prevent further spread of infection,” but it’s a way to keep eidola in line. You either ‘volunteered’ or risked being taken away for weeks or months at time and that depended on who performed the checkup. Many vamps were okay and treated us eidolon folks well enough, others… not so much. A lot of times, people in authority aren’t responsible with the power given to them… but such is life. My mother gave birth to me and I do everything like a living person, yet I’m still treated as a monster. A lot of times I’m embarrassed of who I am, of what I am, and I know I shouldn’t be. Every time a human eye looks at my discolored brown skin, I’m reminded I’m what they fear the most. I’m a mistake, a look-alike-of the human form who wasn’t the real thing. According to society, we eidola are disposable. To them I Darcy Mary Elizabeth Munroe am the monster that they see on TV shows, books, and films brought to life. Finally dressed, I gazed at the mirror and sighed. Today I wore my favorite tattered Warhol Lewis “Bites Back” shirt over my short black and silver puffy Lolita dress with my black platform boots. Only my thick curly black hair needed to styling so I ran my comb through it and rolled it up into a bun with a silver band. I gave one more glance into the mirror and sighed, thinking to myself: But if I’m a monster, why don’t I terrorize them the same way that they terrorize me on a daily basis? Why don’t I make inhuman noises as I walk? Why don’t I rip their flesh apart and eat them? “Darcy, breakfast is ready!” My mother’s voice jolted me from my thoughts. “I’ll be right there!” As I headed downstairs I thought to myself: Just because they say you’re a monster doesn’t make it so. When I entered the kitchen, my Step-Dad Eric greeted me. He took a mug from the top cabinet above him and said, “Morning Darcy, how are you?” “Fine.” I pulled out a chair and took my seat to eat. “Where’s Mom?” Please ignore the shirt. “She’s at the bus stop with the twins.” Eric nonchalantly poured coffee into his mug, his back turned towards me. Trying to keep him from noticing my shirt, I gulped down my food. “Are you ready for school?” “Yup.” I sped ate what remained on my plate. Don’t look at the shirt. I didn’t want to argue. Mondays weren’t a good occasion for that. But on weekends I can leave the house for a while and return right before curfew starts. But I knew one was coming as soon as I placed my dirty dishes in the sink. I made feeble try to exit the kitchen and avoided eye contact with Eric who zeroed in on me. But before I could even step into the living room, he stopped me. “Hold up Darce.” I froze in my tracks. Epic fail. -T.C. Harrison, I, Darcy

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

Fire and earth are the most sacred of the natural elements. One must cross their path with caution and respect.

Easy, Sage, you have no idea. I just agreed to betray my marriage vows, my husband, and my beating heart.

If your neighbor's lawn looks better than yours, don't let jealousy consume you ..... start working on yours. With love and dedication, your side will look better than their.

Ich fürchte dass wir diese nicht "griechisch" genug verstehen, ja dass wir schaudern würden, wenn wir sie einmal griechisch verstünden.

Gli uomini confondono ciò che ha bisogno di uno scopo per giustificare se stesso, con il lirismo che non ha bisogno di uno scopo, perché è di là da ogni scopo;..

I asked him if there was a way in which he could accept just my desire to learn, as if I were an Indian.

Love is simple, if you allow it to be simple." Julian to Hannah, Take A Chance

I know what it’s like to be different. I’m a Native American in a white world.

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!

I stole a bit of a chopped vegetable and was about to put it in my mouth when Jae’s long fingers closed over my wrist. “What? You can’t eat this raw?” “It’s bitter melon. You won’t like it.” He went into the fridge and came out with something that looked halfway familiar. “Here, leftover bao. There’s char siu inside.” “The red pork stuff? Yeah, I like that. I thought it was Chinese.” “It is. We also eat hamburgers and spaghetti.

It's a success story," said Chanu, exercising his shoulders. "But behind every story of immigration success there lies a deeper tragedy." Kindly explain this tragedy." I'm talking about the clash between Western values and our own. I'm talking about the struggle to assimilate and the need to preserve one's identity and heritage. I'm talking about children who don't know what their identity is. I'm talking about the feelings of alienation engendered by a society where racism is prevalent. I'm talking about the terrific struggle to preserve one's own sanity while striving to achieve the best for one's family. I'm talking--" p. 88

I want to see a flowering of Arab and Jewish cultures in a country without racism or anti-Semitism, without rich or poor or spat-upon: everyone beneath the vine and fig tree living in peace and unafraid. A homeland for each and every one of us between the mountains and the sea. A multilingual, multireligious, many-colored and -peopled land where the orange tree blooms for all. I will not surrender this vision for any lesser compromise.

Looking at my reflection tonight, I see a new girl staring back at me. She has big hair and big eyes and a big heart. Not only is she the perfect size and pretty...she is smart. -Mackenzie

She was everything he loved about a woman wrapped up in a cute little package. Golden blonde hair was secured to the top of her head in a ponytail, he bet it would reach her waist when it was loose. Her body was curvy in all the right places, her breasts more than filled out the T-shirt she was wearing and those hips, dang he could just imagine holding onto them while she rode him, instead of Big Red.

She'd been trained as a child no to trust anyone, but he'd just saved her life, and she was freezing. He could be a yeti for all she cared.

Oh my God, you're huge." She struggled to get her hands to the ends of the long sleeves. The garment hung to her knees. She glanced up to see his lips pressed together, like he was choking on a laugh. The corners of his eyes wee crinkled and amusement flickered in his heated gaze.

She always thought of Aaron as special not less. He was God’s gift to her, and she wouldn’t trade him for the world.

The hand at her back stroked up and down. Never straying too far south, but igniting a fire inside her that she wanted this fireman to stoke instead of extinguish

Stop! Ok, seriously, how old are you two? You’re acting like teenagers instead of old ass immortal men!" “Well, yea we are kind of old, but we’ve been around so long, we don’t have anything better to do. Living a long time can really turn you into a cranky bitch. Just wait ‘till you meet my father. We do all we can to enjoy ourselves. But I’m serious when I need to be.”~ Ariadne Phillips and Taznikos Abyssos

The scent of him was subtle, beautifully fresh, and she couldn’t think clearly. No man had ever brought out these intense feelings in her. Chris Augustine was dangerous and she could get lost in his arms.

There wasn't a shed of doubt in her mind that he'd fulfill her every sexual fantasy and them some. But was a brief, hot affair worth losing his friendship?

You're an incredible woman, Lela. I would battle a thousand Terrademons to reach your heart. But I cannot challenge or defeat an enemy that’s already dead. I cannot fight for a heart that doesn't want to be won.

They, they, they. That was the problem with people like Joyce. They talked about the richness of their multicultural heritage and it sounded real good, until you noticed that they avoided black people. It wasn't a matter of conscious choice, necessarily, just a matter of gravitational pull, the way integration always worked, a one-way street. The minority assimilated into the dominant culture, not the other way around. Only white culture could be neutral and objective. Only white culture could be nonracial, willing to adopt the occasional exotic into its ranks. Only white culture had individuals. And we, the half-breeds and the college-degreed, take a survey of the situation and think to ourselves, Why should we get lumped in with the losers if we don't want to? We become only so grateful to lose ourselves in the crowd, America's happy, faceless marketplace; and we're never so outraged as when a cabbie drives past us or the woman in the elevator clutches her purse, not so much because we're bothered by the fact that such indignities are what less fortunate coloreds have to put up with every single day of their lives-- although that's what we tell ourselves-- but because we're wearing a Brooks Brothers suit and speak impeccable English and yet have somehow been mistaken for an ordinary nigger. Don't know who I am? I'm an individual!

This skin thing always pisses me off. What I need is a nopal on my forehead to let the world know about my roots. One of those flat cactus plants that my grandpa grew behind the house before he died--nopal en la frente. Yup. That would solve all my problems.

to split the very sea into ours and theirs." Border at the Beach And More White Sheets

*****WARNING: ADULT CONTENT INTENDED FOR A MATURE AUDIENCE****** “Her pussy juices welled into the cunt as Larry continued to pound it hard and fast, his dick making a sloshing sound in the pussy. As he fucked her like a whore, he felt his cock starting to explode. “I’m coming, I'm coming!

We're all the same in the dark.

Australia has an increasingly multicultural society.

I believe all societies, all thriving societies of the future are going to be multicultural societies.

I feel very fortunate that I was raised in a multicultural family, and it came through food.

I have a multicultural background, so I tend to have an open mind about things, and I find other cultures interesting.