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T Quotes

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All T Quotes

“They like the places where we hurt. They use it against us. The words of the girl, my other self from the dream place, strikes with sudden understanding. The places where we hurt. Where we hurt. Not just me, all of us, colored folk everywhere, who carry our wounds with us, sometimes open for all to see, but always so much more buried and hidden deep. I remember the songs that come with all those visions. Songs full of hurt. Songs full of sadness and tears. Songs pulsing with pain. A righteous anger and cry for justice. But not hate. They ain't the same thing. Never was. These monsters want to pervert that. Turn it to their own ends. Because that's what they do. Twist you all up so that you forget yourself. Make you into something like them. Only I can't forget, because all those memories always with me, showing me the way.”

“They like to use those fancy words. They don't like to say “raped,'” he said. “They say “misdeed,' “inappropriate touching,' “mistake.' That's insulting. I'm not a mistake.”

“They lingered by a stall that sold scarves that shimmered like the sky--- you could see sunset spread across the fabric, deepening from pale blue to rose and orange, then to deep blue scattered with stars. Jack wrapped one around Calisa's shoulders, and she held the fabric up to her eyes, watching it twinkle between her fingers. "Beautiful," she said. "Yes," he agreed. He was looking at her, not the scarf.”

“They live in a world that was created by somebody else, or they create a world for themselves. It can be a world of violence, a world of antisocial behavior, a world of crime. Hulan Hanna, Former Assistant Commissioner of Police with the Royal Bahamas Police Force.”

“They live their day to day existence in their confined environment by passing the time either sitting around the dayroom, reading, drawing, painting, watching television, listening to music, doing puzzles, or sleeping in the dormitory. Quite often patients sit near the windows and stare outside to a world that seems both foreign and out of reach to them. Some just sit on the floor, while leaning against the wall, due to a limited amount of proper seating.”

“They lived in a world of destruction and fortuitous death. All was chance, and it was not even the Devil who threw the dice, for he was part of the fairy-tale and perished with it. It had hardly been worth while to pick a bone with it, for the only thing to quarrel with was one's own credulity in having ever believed a tale that broke down at so many points when put to the test. Year by year boys fresh from school joined in the dance of death, and sweltered in the reeking, stinking heat, when they should have been playing cricket or swimming in cool waters, and they got trench-fever and were gassed, and young limbs swift to run and ripe for love were gashed by bullets and sawn off in hospitals. The fate of the world rested on their shoulders: they were the bewildered scapegoats who were driven out into this desert of death, to expiate the criminal pride and folly of those who had been in charge of world-affairs while they were yet unbreeched. Save for rare moments of panic, they maintained a cheerful carelessness, a studied unconsciousness of the surrounding horror, for to think about it, to realize it and speak of it was to go mad. A few went mad, and with bandaged eyes awaited the volley they would never hear. The rest carried on, dumb and gallant, saying nothing, except in a few blurted words to a friend, of that smouldering focus of resentment and despair.”

“They lived in rural Michigan in the pre-automobile age, and for the most part they had never been fifty miles away from the farm or the dusty village streets; yet once, ages ago, they had been everywhere and had seen everything, and nothing that happened to them thereafter meant anything much. All that was real had taken place when they were young; everything after that had simply been a process of waiting for death, which did not frighten them much -- they had seen it inflicted in the worst possible way on boys who had not bargained for it, and they had enough of the old-fashioned religion to believe without any question that when they passed over they would simply be rejoining men and ways of living which they had known long ago.”

“They’ll explain why you can’t be autistic by producing the very evidence you would use to prove that you are — how smart you are, how social you are, your expert and intense eye contact, your terrific grades and amazing knowledge about niche subjects, your charm during social events. All things that were hard-fought parts of your masked identity.”

“They'll probably say I'm crazy or even mad, and maybe they're right—I should have kept my distance. There were so many things I wanted to say, truths I wanted to share, but I knew they would only cause pain. So instead, I buried those thoughts deep inside and let the pain consume me. No matter how much I tried to explain, it wouldn't have made a difference. I couldn't even understand the turmoil within myself, so how could I possibly make them understand? As time passes, I find myself growing weaker, but with that weakness comes a strange relief. The less I remember, the less I can be hurt. The fading memories bring a certain numbness, and with it, the suffering begins to fade too.”