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Quote by Pedro Pietri

“These dreams These empty dreams from the make-believe bedrooms their parents left them are the after-effects of television programs about the ideal white american family with black maids and latino janitors who are well train to make everyone and their bill collectors laugh at them and the people they represent”

Quote by Pedro Pietri

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Pedro Pietri

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“Poetry such as "Puerto Rican Obituary" highlights another significant aspect of movement thought: the shift from cultural shame to ethnic pride. Unlike earlier critiques of prejudice and discrimination, movement rhetoric and writings often focused on the emotional and psychic damage of racism, exploring the need to overcome internalized shame and self-hate.”

“Dícenme que mi abuelo fue el esclavo por quien el amo dio trienta monedas. Ay, ay, ay, que el esclavo fue mi abuelo es mi pena, es mi pena. Si hubiera sido el amo, sería mi vergüenza; que en los hombres, igual que en las naciones, si el ser el siervo es no tener derechos, el ser el amo es no tener conciencia. They tell me that my grandfather was the slave for whom the master paid thirty coins. Ay, ay, ay, that the slave was my grandfather is my sadness, is my sadness. If he had been the master it would be my shame: that in men, as in nations, if being the slave is having no rights being the master is having no conscience. (Ay, Ay, Ay de la grifa negra/Ay, Ay, Ay of the Kinky-Haired Negress)”

“What I wouldn't give for a jibarito joint in Shady Palms," I said, ladling heaps of arroz con gandules on my plate. The rice and beans looked so simple, but one bite was like tasting the rice of the gods. Xander groaned. "Oh man, jibaritos. I still haven't mastered making them at home. You'd think it wouldn't be too hard since I can make tostones, but somehow smashing and double-deep-frying plantain discs is different than doing that to a whole plantain to make a sandwich." Jibaritos were a Puerto Rican specialty, consisting of steak or pork, lettuce, tomato, onions, and garlic sauce sandwiched between smashed, fried plantains. They were both simple and utterly decadent, and when a craving hit, nothing else would do.”

“Indeed, Miss Bennet. Or you would be less inclined to leave your handkerchiefs behind you." He stooped, then, to retrieve something, and Mary was astonished to find that yes, again, she had let slip a cotton square. Mortified, she reached for it, but his hand was quicker, and he held it up for her. "Do you have a certain disdain for these cloths, Miss Bennet, or is it some code?" he straightened, peering over his shoulder. "Perhaps a cry for help?”