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Quote by Frank Ocean

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Boys Don't Cry

This book delves into the personal journey of a transgender individual, offering a raw and honest portrayal of the struggles and triumphs encountered in the process of self-discovery and acceptance. It provides a window into the lives of those who defy traditional gender norms, highlighting the importance of empathy and understanding in fostering a more inclusive society. more

Author

Frank Ocean
Frank Ocean

Frank Ocean is an American singer, songwriter, and music producer, born on October 28, 1987. He is known for his unique musical style and profound lyrics, with notable works including 'Nostalgia, Ultra' and 'Blonde'. Ocean's music blends various genres, including R&B, hip-hop, and pop. more

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“He bent over Farid and wiped some soot from his cold forehead. "Roxanne knows it," he said. "She'll tell it to you. Just go to her and... and tell her I've had to go away. Tell her I'm going to find out if the story is true." He spoke with a strange kind of hesitation, as if it were infinitely difficult to find the right words. "And remind her of my promise— that I'll always find a way back to her, wherever I am. Will you tell her that?”

“They forked up in the air for him, like trees branching in the night, and rained down sparks. They roared and whispered with their crackling voices, they had danced when he said the word. The flames here were both tame and mutinous, strange, silent beasts that sometimes bit the hand that fed them. Only occasionally, on cold nights when there was nothing but the flames to stave off his loneliness, did he think he heard them calling to him, but they whispered words he didn't understand.”

“He, the stranger, was speaking to her brother Jesse. The sun was at his back and it shone around him like a golden halo. Even from the distance she could see that he was handsome in a curious way. He was finely dressed and worthily shod. Real pince-nez spectacles of circular glass were perched upon his nose. And his trim form and deignful expression gave him a princely air. Meggie's eyes widened. Her heart beat faster and the blood sped through her veins. A prince. Her prince.”

“It was that reader that she'd found in Mama's trunk. At the schoolhouse they had McGuffey, good lessons about good boys and girls. But Meggie had found the worn, faded book of fairy tales. They had been much more interesting than the stern admonitions of McGuffey. And her imagination had taken flight. Fanciful, that's what her father had called it. And when she'd read about Rapunzel, she'd decided that none of the local boys would ever do. A real prince was coming up the mountain for Meggie Best someday. She was sure of it. Unfortunately, this morning she'd thought that he'd arrived.”

“How many times have we heard an African official or a “black authority” saying, “We blacks, we are cursed, it is as if we were destined to remain inferior, retarded, to remain Negroes! Yes, we are cursed, we will never develop as the Asians or the whites do, we are not capable, mentally or intellectually, we are condemned to remain Negroes forever, always behind the others, cursed”! I have heard similar words coming from the mouth of ministers, ambassadors, African diplomats, some expressing themselves in front of their young children, who drank their words.”

“Today, it is not up to Africa to tell the white race to examine itself. It is especially up to herself to do its own self-examination. It has to forgive once and for all, to stop blaming whites and decrying their misdeeds and the causes of their actual misfortune. It must dare to look itself directly into its own eyes, see things as they are today in its own house, amongst Africans themselves, and have the courage to say and recognize what they see in this house.”

“This book is not at all an incitement to racial hatred or to vengeance regarding the crimes that the white race may have committed towards the black race, not at all. The white race has already paid the price for its crimes: it has lost its purity, its innocence and this is due to the crimes that it has committed. A people that is responsible for and guilty of such crimes becomes embittered and its level of civilization fades away bit by bit.”