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Quote by Ida Alexa Ross Wylie

“Husbands came home at night with a new eagerness. . . . As for children, their attitudes changed rapidly from one of affectionate toleration for poor, darling mother to one of wide-eyed wonder. Released from the smother of mother love, for she was too busy to be more than casually concerned with them, they discovered that they liked her. She was a great sport. She had guts.”

Quote by Ida Alexa Ross Wylie

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Ida Alexa Ross Wylie

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“Men often talked about a woman's intuition. Ostensibly it sounded complimentary and yet its intention was usually patronising and dismissive: a term for irrational flights of fancy that these silly creatures would occasionally dream up from nowhere. Sarah understood the true nature of what they were describing. It was not irrational, and nor was it a mystical sixth sense resultant of a unique feminine sensitivity. It was a simple, practical consequence of observation. When you put them in a room, women paid attention to the subtle signs people were sending, while the men concerned themselves only with the impression they were making.”

“Well, of course," Camilo said, and grinned back at JohnRolandJoseph and his long line of bought and paid for ancestors, as friendly and unselfconscious as though all her life she had been looking for men, black men, big black men--plantation bucks (stud) look at his thighs, look at that back, look at his dingle-dangle--as though all her life she had been looking for colored men to whom she was not married, to whom she would never be married because she was already married to a nice young white man, as though all her life she had told uniformed monkeys who pulled elevators in rundown colored hotels, in Harlem, that she couldn't find, had lost, misplaced, a gentleman of color named Williams.”

“Have you ever felt like everything—from the way you walk, talk, play with your hair—it was all learned over years and years of studying other women you considered more attractive than you? Sometimes I thought like that. It was a big problem for me, actually, thinking. It’s not that I compulsively compared myself to other women, but more like I was constantly questioning whether my movements, my style or my vernacular, were actually mine. You could go so far as to say nothing was all mine. Or that no quirk was really original. Most women pick up little ticks from their friends, their teachers, actresses on TV, and especially their mothers. I really really don’t want to talk about my mother though—not yet anyway—but I think about this a lot. How strange it is, having your mother’s voice in your head one moment, guilting and shaming you over the smallest things, then the next moment raising your eyebrows and pinching your mouth in the exact same way she would while scolding you.”

“Women were always telling each other to be happy with what they had, that it was the small things that mattered most. And she was happyand appreaciative, but she didn't mean that the big thing weren't important either. It didn't mean that the big things outside world weren't worth going after. Excitement,n drive, success--these were the things fueled a woman too. They gave her gravitas--weight in the world. How could a woman really be content unless she knew that she'd lived up to her true potential, or at least goven her best shot?”