Quotessence
Home / Authors / Leslie Feinberg Books
Leslie Feinberg

Leslie Feinberg Books

Activist

Related Quotes

“My eyes filled with tears. "Ruth, there's flowers in my salad." Ruth smiled. "Those are nasturtium. They're beautiful, aren't they?" "Can I eat them?" She nodded. I shook my head. "I hate to eat this. It's like a work of art." Ruth sat down next to me. "That's part of how starved you've been. I think you're afraid this is the last beautiful thing that's going to happen to you, and you want to hold onto it." "How did you know that?" Ruth smiled. "I'm your neighbor. It's a wonderful salad, Jess. I made it just for you to enjoy. But the next one will be luscious, too.”

“She began to touch it gently, like something really beautiful. “You know, you could make a woman feel real good with this thing. Maybe better than she ever felt in her life.” She stopped stroking the dildo. “Or you could really hurt her, and remind her of all the ways she’s ever been hurt in her life. You got to think about that every time you strap this on. Then you’ll be a good lover.”

“I’m not saying we’ll live to see some sort of paradise. But just fighting for change makes you stronger. Not hoping for anything will kill you for sure. Take a chance, Jess. You’re already wondering if the world could change. Try imagining a world worth living in, and then ask yourself if that isn’t worth fighting for. You’ve come too far to give up on hope, Jess.”

“I actually chafe at describing myself as masculine. For one thing, masculinity itself is such an expansive territory, encompassing boundaries of nationality, race, and class. Most importantly, individuals blaze their own trails across this landscape. And it’s hard for me to label the intricate matrix of my gender as simply masculine. To me, branding individual self-expression as simply feminine or masculine is like asking poets: Do you write in English or Spanish? The question leaves out the possibilities that the poetry is woven in Cantonese or Ladino, Swahili or Arabic. The question deals only with the system of language that the poet has been taught. It ignores the words each writer hauls up, hand over hand, from a common well. The music words make when finding themselves next to each other for the first time. The silences echoing in the space between ideas. The powerful winds of passion and belief that move the poet to write.”

“Pero ¿quién era yo ahora, un hombre o una mujer? Había luchado muy duro durante mucho tiempo para que me considerasen una mujer como las demás, pero siempre me había sentido excluida por mis diferencias. Nunca habría pensado que el passing iba a esconderme. Creía que me iba a permitir expresar la parte de mi ser que no parecía propia de una mujer. Sin embargo, no había podido explorar cómo era ser alguien que no estaba en un lado ni en otro. Simplemente me había convertido en un tío, en un hombre sin pasado. ¿Quién era yo ahora, un hombre o una mujer? Nunca tendría una respuesta mientras esas fuesen las dos únicas opciones; mientras me siguieran haciendo esa pregunta. (p. 374)”

“I didn't want to be different. I longed to be everything grownups wanted, so they would love me. I followed all their rules, tried my best to please. But there was something about me that made them knit their eyebrows and frown. No one ever offered a name for what was wrong with me. That's what made me afraid it was really bad. I only came to recognize its melody through this constant refrain: 'Is that a boy or a girl?'”

“We have not always been forced to pass, to go underground, in order to work and live. We have a right to live openly and proudly...when our lives are suppressed, everyone is denied an understanding of the rich diversity of sex and gender expression and experience that exist in human society.”