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Quote by Tasha Hoggatt

“Enslavement to a cause that only enriches the lives of a few elite ultimately enslaves and entangles many. It is like moving from one slave plantation to another slave plantation with the hopes the grass is greener and that the trees provide a better breeze and shade while still wearing the same shackles.”

Quote by Tasha Hoggatt

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What Makes You Great?

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Tasha Hoggatt

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“In my view, there are many different kinds of hugs. There are the ones you give to huggers, people who hug all the time. These, to me, are by far the least special of all hugs. I see the outstretched arms for the third time in as many days-the expectation of an embrace- and I am drawn in by a feeling of good manners rather than sincere closeness. It's like shaking hands. There are also those I hug only once in a great while because I hardly ever see then, but who I don't necessarily feel that close to. Those kinds of hugs are probably the most awkward. I'm expected to hug so I do it, even if I'm not sure I want to. Hugs like these are brief, and I am always left wondering what sort of look the other person had on their face where I couldn't see. And then there are HUGS. Like the hugs my parents give me when I'm having a bad day, any sort of hug from Armon the giant, or a hug like the one with Yipes right now. Yipes and I are not apt to embrace each other unless there's a good reason to do it, but when there is a good reason, it's a hug that feels like it ought to.”

“Women have been brought up with the false sense that they have all the options in the world. We don’t understand that the culture really isn’t offering us all of these options – there still are very strong pressures to conform. We have to step outside the culture to be able to make choices that will really give us what we want. But we lack the psychic mechanisms to do this, to really choose.”

“Pain, too, comes from depths that cannot be revealed. We do not know whether those depths are in ourselves or elsewhere, in a graveyard, in a scarcely dug grave, only recently inhabited by withered flesh. This truth, which is banal enough, unravels time and the face, holds up a mirror to me in which I cannot see myself without being overcome by a profound sadness that undermines one's whole being. The mirror has become the route through which my body reaches that state, in which it is crushed into the ground, digs a temporary grave, and allows itself to be drawn by the living roots that swarm beneath the stones. It is flattened beneath the weight of that immense sadness which few people have the privilege of knowing. So I avoid mirrors.”