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Hispanic Quotes

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Hispanic Quotes

“The either/or proposition that forces you to choose between your community and, say, your country has never been true. The very skills we learn to cross borders within ourselves help us to cross borders toward others outside our community.”

“With my white friends, I’m always half Mexican. They never say I’m half Irish. Never say I’m half white. Like I’m tainted halfway from the standard. It’s like when I was a kid and I thought vanilla ice cream meant no flavor, like it was the base of all of the flavors. But vanilla is a bean. Like chocolate is a bean. Like cinnamon is a root. All roots and beans. All flavors. There is no base. No ice cream without a flavor.”

“Same for the classic SF novels I grew up reading; Latinos weren't being written about, either. Did we die out in those futures? Did we not make it? Were we purposefully excluded? Sometimes, we must write ourselves into the futures we want before we're left out of them by someone else.”

“Ding The sound woke Shaw. “Mami, I’m back early,” the text read. He didn’t mean to read it, just that damn detective personality of his. That and the fact that the text was lit up on her screen. He knew he wasn’t the only one, but he tried to ignore it. Does this guy treat her right? Does he make her come or only worry about himself? He felt a scowl forming on his face.”

“It doesn't matter who you are or where you come from or what you look like or who you love. It doesn't matter whether you're black or white or Hispanic or Asian or Native American or young or old or rich or poor, able, disabled, gay or straight, you can make it here in America if you're willing to try.”

“Hey, mamacitas! How about you ditch those losers and come with us. We'll show you a real good time," one of them shouts through the window. "Fuck off," Doug shouts. One of the guys stumbles out of the car and advances on Doug. Sierra yells something but I'm not paying attention. Instead, I'm watching Alex tear off his jacket and block the guy's path. "Get out of my way," the guy orders. "Don't lower yourself by protecting this white dick." Alex stands toe to toe with the guy, the tire iron gripped tightly in his hand. "You fuck with the white dick, you fuck with me. It's that simple. Comprendes, amigo?" Another guy steps out of the car. We are in some serious trouble. "Girls, take the keys and get in the car," Alex orders, his tone precise. "But . . ." There's a lethal calmness in his eyes. Oh, boy. He's dead serious. Doug tosses Sierra his car keys. Now what? Are we supposed to sit in the car and watch them fight? "I'm not going anywhere," I tell him. "Me, either," Sierra says. A guy in the other car sticks his head out of the window. "Alejo, that you?" Alex's stance relaxes. "Tiny? What the hell you doin' with these pendejos?" The guy named Tiny says something in Spanish to his buddies and they jump back into the car. They almost seem relieved they won't have to fight Alex and Doug. "I'll tell you as soon as you tell me what you're doin' with a bunch of gringos," Tiny says. Alex chuckles. "Get out of here." When we're all back in the car, I hear Doug say, "Thanks for having my back." Alex mumbles, "Don't sweat it.”

“In January 2013, the Republican "Hispanic Leadership Network" issued a diktat to elected Republicans, coaching them on which words and phrases they may and may not use...Other Republicans slavishly followed the Hispanic Leadership Network's directions. Trump proceeded to violate every rule--as well as a few new ones.”

“Rather than speaking in terms of specific and distinct subgroups (Mexicans, Cubans, Puerto Ricans, Dominicans, etc.) ‘Latino’ and ‘Hispanic’ have become the shorthand designation of choice among journalists, politicians, advertising executives, academics, and other influential elites.”

“I held Angie Luna in that room for hours, and I remember the different times we made love like epochs in a civilization, each movement and every touch, apex upon abyss. In the luxury of our bed, we tried every position and every angle. I explored the curves on her body and delighted in seeing the freedom of her ecstasy. Her desperate whispers and pleas. I told her I loved her, and she said she loved me too. We lay in bed with our limbs entangled, in a pacific silence that reminded me of existing on a beach just for the sake of such an existence. I couldn't imagine the world ever becoming better, and for some strange reason the thought slipped into my head that I had suddenly grown to be an old man because I could only hope to repeat, but never improve on, a night like this. I finally took her home sometime when the interstate was empty, and the bridges seemed to lead to nowhere, for they were desolate too.”

“Again, this week as I walked on Broadway, in front of giant photographs of voluptuous supermodels at a Victoria Secret mega-store, who was rebuilding the sidewalks? With sweaty headbands, ripped-up jeans, and dust on their brown faces? Their muscled hands quivered as they worked the jack-hammers and lugged the concrete chunks into dump trucks. Two men from Guanajuato. Undocumented workers. They both shook my hand vigorously, as if they were relieved I wasn’t an INS officer. I imagined how much money Victoria Secret was making off these poor bastards. I wondered why passersby didn’t see what was in front of their faces. We use these workers. We profit from them. In the shadows, they work to the bone, for pennies. And it’s so easy to blame them for everything and nothing simply because they are powerless, and dark-skinned,and speak with funny accents. Illegal is illegal. It is a phrase, shallow and cruel, that should prompt any decent American to burn with anger.”

“Unless US citizens acknowledge and understand their country's imperial past, they will not be able to understand its present or future. Much of the recent and current Hispanic resettlement of parts of the United States is a consequence of empire.... Countercolonization follows colonization, and the waves of migrants always flow back like returning tides.”

“A group of ten prisoners from Dachau, I was with them, we hid in the forest to wait for the Americans. The Germans had already left everything behind. We had food but no weapons. For days we could hear bombs exploding around us. We just wanted to survive long enough for the Americans to control the territory. We didn’t want to die. At that point, our prison uniforms were the only things to keep us from being shot on the spot by the Americans. That was all we had. Who would the Americans believe? Real prisoners or guards dressed as prisoners? Those devils might even say we were the Germans. This was our nightmare.”

“It’s a great honor, m’ijo. We know that. I’m sure everyone in Ysleta is proud of you. But this is who you are," she said, for a moment scanning the dark night air and the empty street. A cricket chirped in the darkness. "God help you when you go to this ‘Havid.’ You will be so far away from us, from everything you know. You will be alone. What if something happens to you? Who’s going to help you? But you always wanted to be alone; you were always so independent, so stubborn." "Like you.”

“Julia, is everything all right?” her father said in a raspy voice. “It’s three in the morning, m’ija.” “I’m sorry. I have to talk to you; it’s something very important. Papá, Mamá, I’ve made a decision, and I wanted to share it with you. I’ve decided to convert to the Muslim religion.” “What?” Pilar screamed. “Are you out of your mind?” “Julia, what are you saying?” “I want to be a Muslim. I’ve even chosen a new Muslim name, Aliyah.” “Julia, are you drunk?” “No, Papá, I’m not drunk. I’ve thought about this for a very long time. I think it’s the right thing for me, a way to follow God.”

“But Anja. I hear Anja's voice. Maybe I am insane. I hear her crying. I see her alone in the trees. I remember being alone and humiliated. I remember, too, the fat little boy hiding in the bathroom. And I see this man, Ariane. I see this evil man, Ariane. He laughs everyday still. He has had years of laughter. He has triumphed over the screams of others, he has triumphed with blood on his hands. And he laughs still. God has cursed us! He has either cursed us or He was never here to begin with. We've pretended God was here for our own sanity! That's the truth! We've pretended evil is punished and good is rewarded. A perfect scheme!”

“Drawing on earlier conventional ethnic types in newspapers, theater, literature, photography, and advertisements, the new medium of motion pictures perpetuated them and gave rise to new variants. The overriding negative images of Mexicans and Latinos in general in Hollywood motion pictures became a staple of its earliest western films.”

“Latinx artists both in front of and behind the cameras are committed to creating entertaining, compelling stories, unforgettable characters, and indelible images of humanity that will bring a greater understanding of the society and the world we live in. They have a long history in the evolving art of motion pictures since its inception and are taking a more prominent place in the present and future of Hollywood and the world’s cinematic landscape.”

“Back when the motion picture industry was still open, there were no unions or craft disciplines, and opportunities were available to anyone who could do the job. Latins have been a vital part of the industry since this era. As the different production film entities out West in Hollywood grew larger, consolidated, and gradually unionized, social hierarchy and pressures took a stronger hold in the Hollywood community and industry that initially allowed regular—albeit restricted—opportunities for employment in the movies.”

“A good writer should be able to communicate to the reader, 'I know your life. I know what you have truly experienced. It’s not right or wrong. It’s survival. It’s making mistakes, and trying to redeem yourself. It’s imperfections, and trying to make yourself better. It’s outrages, and crimes, and insults, which often are not righted, which you have to fix yourself, in your own mind, in your own heart, so that you are not poisoned'.”

“Oh my gawd!” Dawn squealed, walking down the hallway with Jules filling her in on the night before. For a woman almost in her 50s, she sure had some energy and pep. Sometimes she sounded like a schoolgirl. “Shh!” Jules reached over, tugging on Dawn’s arm as they walked down the hall. “Don’t tell the whole world,” she chuckled. “Is it normal to feel like this? I mean, I get horny just thinking about it!” Jules whispered even more quietly. “Hot damn, girl!” Dawn was the first to grab their usual corner table in the breakroom. “Whaddya mean is it normal? To crave—” Her voice got church mouse quiet, “—sex?” “Honey, yes with a capital Y. It is if it’s that good!” Dawn replied. “Lord, have you not felt this way ever before?” she asked, her eyes widening in disbelief. Jules shook her head no. “But you know what keeps it so hot for me, Dawn? That I feel completely in control of the situation. I had him come over, we hung out and had fun, and I screwed him.” She said that part with a big grin. “I even wanted him to leave afterwards, and I have no desire to pursue it any further!” She didn’t believe herself, but hoped if she kept repeating this thought her feelings would soon follow.”

“Jimena sensed their fear. That brought a smile to her face. Her reputation was still so big that even tough enimigas wouldn't face her down. She strutted past them, her heels snapping loudly on the sidewalk. She enjoyed the feel of their admiring eyes, their sideways glances and the wonder she saw on their faces. Jimena wasn't choloed out in khakis, a tight T, and long, boyfriend-borrowed Pendletons. She wore a slinky dress and ankle-breaking high-heels. The rain made the dress cling to her body, so they knew she wasn't strapping. No gun. Still, they were afraid to confront her. This time she stopped for the red light, pausing to let the chicas know she didn't fear them. It felt good to be the toughest chola en el condado de Los Angeles. She was still down for Ninth Street, her old gang, but at age fifteen, already a veterana. A leyenda, her homegirls told her with pride. Jimena had been a real badass before she understood her destiny. She glanced at the scars and tattoos on her hand. What would the klika-girls do if they knew her true identity?”

“So that’s what we want is a secure and sovereign nation and, you know, I don’t know that all of you are Latino. Some of you look a little more Asian to me. I don’t know that. What we know, what we know about ourselves is that we are a melting pot in this country. My grandchildren are evidence of that. I’m evidence of that. I’ve been called the first Asian legislator in our Nevada State Assembly.”

“Chairman Priebus set out on an early and historic political outreach plan which called for investing resources early to build the RNC network well before Election Day. And although the elections are still eight months away, all indications are that the money has been well spent. Our message is getting out to the Hispanic, Asian and African American communities. If we can continue to implement this plan, we will be able to save the country from further policy damages at the hand of President Obama and the Democrats.”

“I was grateful to see President Obama's victory speech. I was over the moon to see the audience. There were about 60 percent white voters the other 40 percent were African Americans, Asian, Spanish speaking etc. I wept at that spectacle, it told me that the pundits that continue in our country to try to polarize us, to keep us apart, are not succeeding. Americans are waking up not only to the truth, but the truth in each other. Hallelujah!”

“Everybody knows - but no one wants to say - that the Democratic Party has become the party of special interest bigots and racial dividers. It runs the one-party state that controls public services in every major inner city, including the corrupt and failing school systems in which half the students - mainly African American and Hispanic - are denied a shot at the American dream.”