Black Son Quotes & Sayings

I pulled a dirty black sweatshirt from the laundry basket on my son's floor and tried to drink in his scent, to savor the essence of my sweet boy. I inhaled it long and hard, wanting to permanently implant all of him in my brain, to make him last forever. — Shelley Ramsey

The Son of Darkness, a lone brow raised, slowly turned to regard the High King. 'What else, Kallor,' he said in a low, calm voice, 'keeps my blade from your black heart ... if not sentiment? — Steven Erikson

Tupac the son of the Black Panther, and Tupac the rider. Those are the two people inside of me. I was raised off those ideals. — Tupac Shakur

She realized he'd stopped to change his coat and it clung to him in perfectly tailored lines. He stood leaning on his cane, hair neatly pushed back from his pale brow, a black glass boy of deadly edges.
The look of surprise on Haskell's face was nearly comical. Then he started to laugh. "Well, I'll be a son of a bitch, Brekker. You have to be the craziest bastard I ever met. — Leigh Bardugo

My son don't have to say it loud, I'm black and I'm proud. He don't have to be called those crazy names. — James Brown

My third grade teacher called my mother and said, 'Ms. Cox, your son is going to end up in New Orleans in a dress if we don't get him into therapy.' And wouldn't you know, just last week I spoke at Tulane University, and I wore a lovely green and black dress. — Laverne Cox

Thomas Cromwell is now about fifty years old. He has a labourer's body, stocky, useful, running to fat. He has black hair, greying now, and because of his impermeable skin, which seems designed to resist rain as well as sun, people sneer that his father was an Irishman, though really he was a brewer and a blacksmith at Putney, a shearsman too, a man with a finger in every pie, a scrapper and a brawler, a drunk and a bully, a man often hauled before the justices for punching someone, for cheating someone. How the son of such a man has achieved his present eminence is a question all Europe asks. — Hilary Mantel

The entire room turns and stares. There's no doubt what they see - ripped jeans, a black T-shirt, tattoos and earrings. I don't care what they see. All I care about is what she sees: a person unwelcomed or the guy she loves.
A tear flows down her face, and the hand wrapped at her waist tells me she's paralyzed. In a long gold ball gown that's more skirt than dress, Rachel is truly the angel I believe her to be. A man in a tuxedo stands. "Son, I think you have the wrong room."
"No. I don't." I stride between the tables, keeping my eyes locked with hers. The closer I get, the more she straightens. Her hand falls from her stomach, and the tear clears from her face. Rachel gazes at me as if I'm a dream. I extend my hand, palm out. "I need help."
Her blue eyes lose their glaze, and the hue of violet I love so much returns. "So do I." — Katie McGarry

I fell asleep during 'Year One' twice. And my son, who never falls asleep during a Jack Black movie, also nodded off. That's how bad it was. I was incredibly disappointed. — Denis Leary

I don't want any money."
I put the wallet away.
She said: "What are you going to do about last night?"
"What should I do?"
"Kill that son of a bitch."
"And fry?"
"You're too smart to fry."
"Maybe," I said. "But, lady, I've been drawing the line at murder lately."
She lay against the pillow, watching me. Her skin was dead white and it made the black eyes look big. She wasn't young, but she was still good-looking. Her shoulders were round and firm. As far as I could tell she was naked under the sheet. I sat down on a rocking-chair. It creaked under my weight.
"But you want to get him, don't you?" she asked.
"I wouldn't mind."
"Neither would I," she said.
"He's pretty tough for a gal to tackle."
"He knocked out my teeth."
The way she said it, it sounded like a good reason for bumping off a man. Maybe it was, at that. A girl likes to hold on to her teeth. — Jonathan Latimer

It was into my father's image, the black man, son of Africa, that I'd packed all the attributes I sought in myself, the attributes of Martin and Malcolm, DuBois and Mandela. — Barack Obama

People think blood red, but blood don't got no colour. Not when blood wash the floor she lying on as she scream for that son of a bitch to come, the lone baby of 1785. Not when the baby wash in crimson and squealing like it just depart heaven to come to hell, another place of red. Not when the midwife know that the mother shed too much blood, and she who don't reach fourteen birthday yet speak curse 'pon the chile and the papa, and then she drop down dead like old horse. Not when blood spurt from the skin, on spring from the axe, the cat-o'-nine, the whip, the cane and the blackjack and every day in slave life is a day that colour red. It soon come to pass when red no different from white or blue or black or nothing. Two black legs spread wide and mother mouth screaming. A black baby wiggling in blood on the floor with skin darker than midnight but the greenest eyes anybody ever done seen. I goin' call her Lilith. You can call her what they call her. — Marlon James

God's answer to your guilty conscience is the death of his Son. Your answer to a guilty conscience is usually something you do, like confessing harder, praying more, reading your Bible, paying more than your tithe in the offering and so on. These actions are what the writer to the Hebrews calls "dead works," the very things your conscience needs to be cleansed from and the very things that eventually get you wrapped up in the black shadow of your own guilt. — John White

When nine-and-ninety hostages had shuffled by them to pass beneath the Wall, Tormund Giantsbane produced the last one. My son Dryn. You'll see he's well taken care of, crow, or I'll cook your black liver up and eat it. — George R R Martin

Hey, you know something people?
I'm not black
But there's a whole lots a times
I wish I could say I'm not white — Frank Zappa

Were you acquainted with me, you would know that my failings are equal to my victories. On my own, I am no more than a pauper. It is the Prince for whom I live and for whom I fight. He raised me from the mire and made me a son. I will aspire to serve Him to the utmost, and perhaps my duty to Him will be fulfilled more as a herald than as a warrior, for if my quill and ink capture your attention and cause you to ponder the chronicles of this great kingdom and the story of the Prince, then I am content. — Chuck Black

After a moment the small man came in carrying his bag, and Forlesen's son placed a chair close to the coffin for him and went into the bedroom. "Well, what's it going to be," the small man asked, "or is it going to be nothing?" "I don't know," Forlesen said. He was looking at the weave of the small man's suit, the intertwining of the innumerable threads, and realizing that they constituted the universe in themselves, that they were serpents and worms and roots, the black tracks of forgotten rockets across a dark sky, the sine waves of the radiation of the cosmos. "I wish I could talk to my wife. — Gene Wolfe

Thought: maybe this is what a mother feels like at times. When she can't help one of her children. When she has to just stand by and watch her daughter strike out on the softball field, watch her son fail at math despite whatever effort he may put in. This ache. This defining double bind of roaring, passionate protectiveness and its equal, weighty, leaden uselessness. And even the impatience with it all; and then the guilt about feeling impatient, about finding it a bit oppressive despite the immeasurable love. Maybe this is what mothering sometimes feels like, I thought. — Robin Black

You are - truly your father's son, Harry. . . . — J.K. Rowling

I'm a prodigal son. The black sheep of a white flock. I shall die on the gallows. — William A. Drake

Mum's gaze returned to mine and it was smiling warmly as she attempted to squeeze my hands. 'Tell me darling,' she whispered, 'which one of those young men is my dear Belle's son, Warren?'

'Oh, you mean the son of that friend of yours you never once mentioned?' I narrowed my eyes, but her smile remained serene. Realising I was being pointedly ignored I heaved a dramatic sigh before answering her. 'The one with black hair, blue eyes, and kinda shady looking. Kind of like someone you would expect to actually set children on fire. — Millicent Nankivell

The thing is, the kids always rebel against what the parents try to push on them so I'm going to pretend like I don't want [my son] to hear the rock. I'm going to listen to it only in my private chambers. He'll hear echoes of it and say: "What was that you were listening to papa?" And I'll say: "Nothing son, you're not ready." — Jack Black

I haven't done a lot of things in my career that my kids can watch, because they are 8, 6 and 3, and they are pretty young; so given the concepts that the film was about a superhero, it was a black superhero, and it was a father and son type partnership. — Blair Underwood

Nico strode forward. The enemy army fell back before him like he radiated death, which of course he did.
Through the face guard of his skull-shaped helmet, he smiled. "Got your message. Is it too late to join the party?"
"Son of Hades." Kronos spit on the ground. "Do you love death so much you wish to experience it?"
"Your death," Nico said, "would be great for me."
"I'm immortal, you fool! I have escaped Tartarus. You have no business here, and no chance to live."
Nico drew his sword-three feet of wicked sharp Stygian iron, black as a nightmare. "I don't agree. — Rick Riordan

I'm not thinking about forcing my kids to watch my movies. It's always awkward when someone says: "Hey, I wrote a song, can I play it for you?" That would be the dynamic, if I was like: "Hey, you're my son, watch my work!" I don't want to put them in that awkward position. Just because when they get older, that's when I'm worried, that they'll judge me and say: "Yeah, my father's [hand over mouth] Jack Black. He was in that cheesy movie." So, I'm going to keep it all high quality. It'll be a quality controller. — Jack Black

Son unas cualquieras, she mutters. Nobodies. No culture, no family life, illiterates, she means. The kind of people who make her cross to the other side of the street if she meets them in the dark on payday. They're her worst nightmare of what a Latin girl can become in the United States. Their big hoop earrings and plucked eyebrows, their dark lips painted like those stars in the old black-and-white movies, their tight T-shirts that show too much curve and invite boys' touches. — Meg Medina

[Tyson] looked him over with that massive baby-brown eye. "You are not dead. I like it when you are not dead."
Ella fluttered to the ground and began preening her feathers. "Ella found a dog," she announced. "A large dog. And a Cyclops." Was she blushing?
Before Percy could decide, his black mastiff pounced on him, knocking Percy to the ground and barking so loudly that even Arion backed up. "Hey, Mrs. O'Leary," Percy said. "Yeah, I love you, too, girl. Good dog."
Hazel squeaked. "You have a hellhound named Mrs. O'Leary?"
"Long story. — Rick Riordan

Moments later, Hawfield walked in. He wasn't alone.
"You've got to be kidding!" Hi blurted.
Carmine Corcoran's scowl was as deep as ever. He'd lost a few pounds, but was still a large man, with muttonchop sideburns and a bristly black mustache. His hair was graying at the temples, making him appear more distinguished than his forty-five years merited.
Ruth popped the back of her son's head. "Mind your manners, Hiram."
"Why does everyone do the?" Hi muttered. "And child abuse. In front of the police, I might add. — Kathy Reichs

Desmond ushered the man inside. He was stooped and ugly, with an unkempt beard and unwashed clothes, yet Father greeted him pleasantly and asked his name.
"Yoren, as it please m'lord. My pardons for the hour." He bowed to Arya. "And this must be your son. He has your look."
"I'm a girl," Arya said, exasperated. If the old man was down from the Wall, he must have come by way of Winterfell. "Do you know my brothers?" she asked excitedly. "Robb and Bran are at Winterfell, and Jon's on the Wall. Jon Snow, he's in the Night's Watch too, you must know him, he has a direwolf, a white one with red eyes. Is Jon a ranger yet? I'm Arya Stark." The old man in his smelly black clothes was looking at her oddly, but Arya could not seem to stop talking. "When you ride back to the Wall, would you bring Jon a letter if I wrote one?" She wished Jon were here right now. He'd believe her about the dungeons and the fat man with the forked beard and the wizard in the steel cap. — George R R Martin

Thoughts of moonlight and silken hair evaporated in a black bolt of fury. Kaz saw Inej tug on the sleeve of her left forearm, where the Menagerie tattoo had once been. He had the barest inkling of what she'd endured there, but he knew what it was to feel helpless, and Van Eck had managed to make her feel that way again. Kaz was going to have to find a new language of suffering to teach that smug merch son of a bitch. — Leigh Bardugo

Batman: a force of chaos in my world of perfect order. The dark side of the Soviet dream. Rumored to be a thousand murdered dissidents, they said he was a ghost. A walking dead man. A symbol of rebellion that would never fade as long as the system survived.
Anarchy in black. — Mark Millar

Angry Black White Boy is bananas! Actually, it's a banana split with razor blades in it. Adam Mansbach is the white Richard Wright, and Angry Black White Boy is our generation's Native Son. — William Upski Wimsatt

THE original Alexandre Dumas was born in 1762, the son of "Antoine Alexandre de l'Isle," in the French sugar colony of Saint-Domingue. Antoine was a nobleman in hiding from his family and from the law, and he fathered the boy with a black slave. Later Antoine would discard his alias and reclaim his real name and title - Alexandre Antoine Davy, the Marquis de la Pailleterie - and bring his black son across the ocean to live in pomp and luxury near Paris. — Tom Reiss

When Vice President Al Gore, a progressive supporter of teacher unions and opponent of school vouchers, was asked why he opposed school vouchers for black children while sending his own son to a private school, he said, "If I was the parent of a child who went to an inner-city school that was failing, I might be for vouchers, too."106 — John Perazzo

When I return to that house it will be with my son in my arms. I shall have a red coat on him and red-flowered trousers and on his head a hat with a small gilded Buddha sewn on the front and on his feet tiger-faced shoes. And I will wear new shoes and a new coat of black sateen and I will go into the kitchen where I spent my days and I will go into the great hall where the Old One sits with her opium, and I will show myself and my son to all of them. — Pearl S. Buck

Son of a mother! Hazel reached the stern and couldn't believe what she saw. When she heard the word turtle, she thought of a cute little thing the size of a jewelry box, sitting on a rock in the middle of a fishpond. When she heard huge, her mind tried to adjust - okay, perhaps it was like the Galapagos tortoise she'd seen in the zoo once, with a shell big enough to ride on. She did not envision a creature the size of an island. When she saw the massive dome of craggy black and brown squares, the word turtle simply did not compute. Its shell was more like a landmass - hills of bone, shiny pearl valleys, kelp and moss forests, rivers of seawater trickling down the grooves of its carapace. — Rick Riordan

And that was what the Christians had been doing in their church, consecrating their wizards by making boys into black-clothed priests who would spread their filth further, and my son, my eldest son, was now a damned Christian priest and I hit him again. — Bernard Cornwell

And to Rhaego son of Drogo, the stallion who will mount the world, to him I also pledge a gift. To him I will give this iron chair his mother's father sat in. I will give him Seven Kingdoms. I, Drogo, khal, will do this thing.' His voice rose, and he lifted his fist in the sky. 'I will take my khalasar west to where the world ends, and ride the wooden horses across the black salt water as no khal has done before. I will kill the men in the iron suits and tear down their stone houses. I will rape their women, take their children as slaves, and bring their broken gods back to Vaes Dothrak to bow down beneath the Mother of Mountains. This I vow, I, Drogo son of Bharbo. This I swear before the Mother of Mountains, as the stars look down in witness. — George R R Martin

The Two Caps Rabbi David Moshe, the son of the rabbi of Rizhyn, once said to a hasid: "You knew my father when he lived in Sadagora and was already wearing the black cap and going his way in dejection; but you did not see him when he lived in Rizhyn and was still wearing his golden cap." The hasid was astonished. "How is it possible that the holy man from Rizhyn ever went his way in dejection! Did not I myself hear him say that dejection is the lowest condition!" "And after he had reached the summit," Rabbi David replied, "he had to descend to that condition time and again in order to redeem the souls which had sunk down to it. — Martin Buber

But these men had become object lessons for me, men I might love but never emulate, white men and brown men whose fates didn't speak to my own. It was into my father's image, the black man, son of Africa, that I'd packed all the attributes I sought in myself, the attributes of Martin and Malcolm, DuBois and Mandela. And if later I saw that the black men I knew - Frank or Ray or Will or Rafiq - fell short of such lofty standards; if I had learned to respect these men for the struggles they went through, recognizing them as my own - my father's voice had nevertheless remained untainted, inspiring, rebuking, granting or withholding approval. — Barack Obama

You feel well, Ali? You have a very faraway look on your face, beta,' my dad said. 'Like you have left your heart behind.'

He fixed me with eyes as liquid black as mine and for a moment I felt exposed, like he could see right through me. That irrational childhood thought that he could read my mind maybe.

'What nonsense, his heart is here with his mother and his family. Tell him, Ali,' my mother said.

'Begum, this generation of boys and girls, you know how they are.' My dad never said my mother's name; she was always Begum, the generic term for 'wife'. — Ruth Ahmed

And I'll have you know that if you hurt my son again, if he so much as sighs sadly over his coffee, I will hire a man, a Russian, probably, to hunt you down and rip all that shiny black hair from your head, then break your skinny arms and legs, and set you on fire, and then put you out with a hammer. And should there be children from your beastly rutting, I shall have the Russian man cut them to tiny pieces and feed them to Madame Jacob's dog. because, although he may be only a worthless, simpleminded, libertine artist, Lucien is my favorite, and I will not have him hurt. Do you understand? — Christopher Moore

Plain boiled food, plain boiled thinking. Even his name is plain boiled: John. Maybe because I grew up with black bean sauce and hoisin sauce and garlic sauce, I always feel something is missing when my son-in-law talk. — Gish Jen

Paul took a place in the line behind Chani. He had put down the black feeling at being caught by the girl. In his mind now was the memory called up by his mother's barked reminder: "My son's been tested with the gom jabbar!" He found that his hand tingled with remembered pain. — Frank Herbert

Have you never seen a movie? Read a comic book? That's always how it starts - just a little temptation, just a little taste of evil, and then BAM, your light saber turns red and you're breathing through a big black mask and slicing off your son's hand just to be mean.
They looked at him blankly. — Cassandra Clare

I think about a storm rolling in with black clouds and I visualize the lightning and try to draw energy from that, and I think: all I have to do is beat this man until he stops moving, then I can go home to my son. — Carlos Condit

When he removed his robes, you could see the hundreds of scars and bruises that shamelessly decorated his body. Huge black bruises, long scars that came from sword lacerations and whips and new wounds that bled fresh red blood.
The Dragonboy's father had no idea his son suffered.
That's because the boy never told.
From The Binding, a story from the upcoming tenth update of Dragons and Cicadas — L'Poni Baldwin

I just had a son and had to take him to the paediatrician and he measured his head and apparently he's in a group in which only 14 per cent of the population have a bigger head than him. Then she said: "Do you mind if I measure your head?" I said: "Go ahead." And she was shocked, because less than one per cent of the world's population has a bigger head than mine. So I guess that means I'm pretty full of myself. Or that I have a huge brain. — Jack Black

And remember, my son, that it is better for the soldier to smell of gunpowder than of civet, and that if old age should come upon you in this honourable calling, though you may be covered with wounds and crippled and lame, it will not come upon you without honour, and that such as poverty cannot lessen; especially now that provisions are being made for supporting and relieving old and disabled soldiers; for it is not right to deal with them after the fashion of those who set free and get rid of their black slaves when they are old and useless, and, turning them out of their houses under the pretence of making them free, make them slaves to hunger, from which they cannot expect to be released except by death. — Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra

I am more than a black guy. I am a person, I'm storyteller, I'm a son, I'm a friend, so I am all those things so it is frustrating to a degree to be limited by other people's perceptions of me but at the same time, it is true that I am a black guy and it's like I'm rooted in, but not bound by. That sort of mentality, that's the one that I hold to be true. — Justin Simien

As the youth came on in front of the others, he got the bronze in his chest beside the right nipple. On through his shoulder it went and he fell to earth in the dust like a sooth black poplar whose branchy top falls in the low grassland of a mighty marsh to the gleaming ax of some chariot-maker, who leaves t to dry by the banks of a river that he may bend him a rim for a beautiful chariot. Even such was the fall of Anthemion's son Simoeisius — Homer

Oh, silly me. Lottie is Olive's dog. You must have seen her: pretty little black cocker spaniel. Mind you, what Olive's son thought he was doing getting his mother a dog last Christmas, I don't know. Crazy with her health problems; and where is he now? Scarpered off to live in Australia. — Mary Grand

Affraig's eyes moved to the oak tree that towered above her, its branches like antlers against the white sky. Her gaze travelled up to the weathered web that hung from one of the higher boughs, the slender noose swinging inside. In her mind she saw herself weaving it while she chanted words against Malachy's wrathful curse. She remembered the lord's hand settling on her shoulder, the hiss of the fire,
his breath on her neck and, outside, stars falling like fiery rain. Her gaze moved west towards Turnberry.
Her memory clouded with thoughts of the earl, but as she thought of his son her mind cleared. The stars had been falling too on the night he was born. She remembered seeing Mars, full and red, a bloody eye winking in the black. — Robyn Young

And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in the latest styles from Old Navy, and laid him in a shopping cart, because they were waiting in line to get into Walmart. — Adam Kotsko

I was raised to believe that you had to do things better than white people in order to succeed. The old black shows were better than the white shows. The Jeffersons was a lot better. Good Times was way funnier. Sanford and Son. Now, though, everyone thinks we're equal, so we submit the same s ... that everyone else submits. And then we get mad when they won't air it. You got to go back to the old attitude of it has to be twice as good. — Chris Rock

It's in your father's volume. Xcor is the blooded son of the Black Dagger Brother Hharm. Just as you are." Tohr — J.R. Ward

But how could he explain anything to them, when they understood good but not goodness, strong but not strength, black but not blackness?
Give us bread! the Savages cried. Heal us!
They were frightened by the consecrated wine, believing that the Black-Gowns drank human blood.
This is the blood of JESUS, said Pere Masse.
Was that a man? they asked.
He was the SON OF GOD, but He became a man to die for us. In memory of his sacrifice, we drink His blood.
At this they drew back and whispered in their language, with many terrified glances. — William T. Vollmann

His mother, a dried-up old lady with black eyes and ringlets, screwed up her eyes, scanning her son, and smiled slightly with her thin lips. Getting up from the seat and handing her maid a bag, she gave her little wrinkled hand to her son to kiss, and lifting his head from her hand, kissed him on the cheek. — Leo Tolstoy

I dug my hand into the small spot and pulled out a key attached to a big black key chain with buttons for locking and unlocking doors. My head jerked up to see his serious expression. Patti covered her mouth, saying nothing.
"No more boys taking you on trips, you hear?" His voice was gravelly. "You can take your own self from now on. Last thing you need is some boy distracting you and making this whole situation even more complicated. Promise me you'll stay away from that son of Pharzuph."
[ ... ]
"I tried that once, John," Patti warned him. "It didn't work out so well for me. — Wendy Higgins

I have been lusting after my wife's son since the day I met him. Tall and thin, the boy has yet to grow into his long arms and legs. Jet black hair like his biological father, it falls just to below his collar. His eyes are so blue I could see myself in them if I allowed myself to get close enough. I haven't done that. Yet. — Candi Kay

And the darkness of John's sin was like the darkness of the church on Saturday evenings[ ... ] It was like his thoughts as he moved about the tabernacle in which his life had been spent; the tabernacle that he hated, yet loved and feared[ ... ] The darkness of his sin was in the hardheartedness with which he resisted God's power; in the scorn that was often his while he listened to the crying, breaking voices, and watched the black skin glisten while they lifted up their arms and fell on their faces before the Lord. For he had made his decision. He would not be like his father, or his father's fathers. He would have another life. — James Baldwin

After Nicholas hung up the phone, he watched his mother carry buckets and garden tools across the couch grass toward a bed that would, come spring, be brightly ablaze as tropical coral with colorful arctotis, impatiens, and petunias. Katherine dug with hard chopping strokes, pulling out wandering jew and oxalis, tossing the uprooted weeds into a black pot beside her.
The garden will be beautiful, he thought. But how do the weeds feel about it? Sacrifices must be made. — Stephen M. Irwin

I have heard it said - usually behind my back - that Black Lesbians are not normal. But what is normal in this deranged society by which we are all trapped? I remember, and so do many of you, when being Black was considered not normal, when they talked about us in whispers, tried to paint us, lynch us, bleach us, ignore us, pretend we did not exist. We called that racism.
I have heard it said that Black Lesbians are a threat to the Black family. But when 50 percent of children born to Black women are born out of wedlock, and 30 percent of all Black families are headed by women without husbands, we need to broaden and redefine what we mean by family.
I have heard it said that Black Lesbians will mean the death of the race. Yet Black Lesbians bear children in exactly the same way other women bear children, and a Lesbian household is simply another kind of family. Ask my son and daughter. — Audre Lorde

My son the general!" King Tiberias booms, his proud voice cutting through the din of the party. For a second, when he pulls Cal close, putting an arm around his son, I forget he's a king. I almost understand Cal's need to please him. What would I give to see my mother look at me like that, back when I was nothing but a thief? What would I give now? This world is Silver, but it is also gray. There is no black-and-white. — Victoria Aveyard

There's a strange uniformity in the vocabulary European soccer fans use to hate black people. The same primate insults get hurled. Although they've gotten better over time, the English and Italians developed the tradition of making ape noises when black players touched the ball. The Poles toss bananas on the field. This consistency owes nothing to television, which rarely shows these finer points of fan behavior. Nor are these insults considered polite to discuss in public. This trope has simply become a continent-wide folk tradition, transmitted via the stadium, from fan to fan, from father to son. — Franklin Foer

They are the city scavengers, these pigs. Ugly brutes they are; having, for the most part, scanty brown backs, like the lids of old horsehair trunks: spotted with unwholesome black blotches. They have long, gaunt legs, too, and such peaked snouts, that if one of them could be persuaded to sit for his profile, nobody would recognise it for a pig's likeness. They are never attended upon, or fed, or driven, or caught, but are thrown upon their own resources in early life, and become preternaturally knowing in consequence. Every pig knows where he lives, much better than anybody could tell him. At this hour, just as evening is closing in, you will see them roaming towards bed by scores, eating their way to the last. Occasionally, some youth among them who has over-eaten himself, or has been worried by dogs, trots shrinkingly homeward, like a prodigal son: but this is a rare case: perfect self-possession and self-reliance, and immovable composure, being their foremost attributes. — Charles Dickens

When the plot is discovered no one suspects him and he remains close to Rosas for a while, then decides to flee, even though his life is not really in danger; he takes refuge in the house of his cousin Amparo Escalada. He lives hidden in the cellar of her house for some six months. The woman will have a son by him, a child Ossorio will never know. In 1842 he crosses to Montevideo. The exiles are fearful; they think he is a double agent. Isolated and disillusioned with politics, he goes to Brazil, where he settles in Rio Grande do Sul, lives with a black woman slave, and devotes himself to writing poetry and contracting syphilis. — Ricardo Piglia

Son, you can't go around painting yourself black, you hear?"
"Why not, Papa?"
"Because they'll take you away."
"Why?"
"Because you shouldn't want to be like black people or Jewish people or anyone who is ... not us."
"Who are Jewish people?"
"You know my oldest customer, Mr. Kaufmann? Where we bought your shoes?"
"Yes."
"Well, he's Jewish."
"I didn't know that. Do you have to pay to be Jewish? Do you need a license?"
...
" ... you've got beautiful blond hair and big safe blue eyes. You should be happy with that; is that clear? — Markus Zusak

This great son of the world, Madiba, showed us the way. Whether you are white, black yellow or brown you are all God's children, come together, work together and God will show you the way. — Kenneth Kaunda

I was the first face you saw when you were born, you were bald as my hair ran black. Now yours the last face I saw before I died, your hair ran black, as I was bald. — Anthony Liccione

They're so broke that they've actually cut essential services. In many places, they've cut policemen, because, who the fuck needs them? Or firemen, son of a bitch, it's much more fun watching something burn down. — Lewis Black

I? I am the wind,' said Thowra. 'I come, I pass, and I am gone.' The strange feathers moved up and down, the strange voice said tartly: 'And are your sons the same?' 'My son is the lightning that strikes through the black night. My grandson is light that pierces the dark sky at dawning.' 'Ah,' said the first emu, 'and we know your daughter is the snow that falls softly from above and clothes the world in white. You want but the rainbow - that is and was and never will be, and is yet the promise of life - and the glittering ice which is there and is gone: then you and your family will possess all magic. — Elyne Mitchell

I remember when I came home from the hospital after having my son, I wore a Narciso Rodriguez black coat. Then, I was using this fragrance that I had created. I walk by that coat, and it still smells like that fragrance. It takes you right there. — Sarah Jessica Parker

While I was looking into Olivia's mad eyes and dreaming, my son left his game and his place by the fire. I didn't even notice as he went toward what I had thought was a bundle of rags. I didn't notice as he turned it over and drew back the blanket, lifted it carefully in his small arms.
I only noticed when he spoke.
"Look, Daddy!"
Then, too late, I turned around. I did not know what I was seeing, but even then I felt a sudden lurch of shock and dread. I felt as if I had looked away at a crucial moment and my child had fallen into the fire and been burned horribly.
I saw my son, my Alan, my darling boy, and in his arms a creature with staring, terrible black eyes. Something that had not stirred or cried out even when Olivia threw it on the floor.
"Daddy," Alan said, glowing. "It's a baby. — Sarah Rees Brennan

Terribly black must that guilt be for which nothing but the blood of the Son of God could make satisfaction. Heavy must that weight of human sin be which made Jesus groan and sweat drops of blood in agony at Gethsemane, and cry at Golgotha, My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken Me? — J.C. Ryle

You're not going to have the police force representing the black and brown community, if they've spent the last 30 years busting every son and daughter and father and mother for every piddling drug offense that they've ever done, thus creating a mistrust in the community. But at the same time, you should be able to talk about abuses of power, and you should be able to talk about police brutality and what, in some cases, is as far as I'm concerned, outright murder and outright loss of justice without the police organization targeting you in the way that they have done me. — Quentin Tarantino

If virtue no delighted beauty lack, Your son-in-law is far more fair than black. — William Shakespeare

That's you," Wrath said. You shall be called the Black Dagger warrior Dhestroyer, descended of Wrath son of Wrath."
"But you'll always be Butch to us," Rhage cut in. "As well as hard-ass. Smart-ass. Royal pain in the ass. You know, whatever the situation calls for. I think as long as there's an ASS in there, it'll be accurate."
"How about bASStard?" Z suggested.
"Nice. I feel that. — J.R. Ward

And what a story. The first thing that drew me in was disbelief. What? Humanity sins but it's God's Son who pays the price? I tried to imagine Father saying to me, 'Piscine, a lion slipped into the llama pen today and killed two llamas. Yesterday another one killed a black buck. Last week two of them ate a camel. The situation has become intolerable. Something must be done. I have decided that the only way the lions can atone for their sins is if I feed them you.' ... 'Yes, Father, that would be the right and logical thing to do. Give me a moment to wash up'. What a downright weird story. What a peculiar psychology. — Yann Martel

In the moment, you wanted to marry that big, boring, black-haired, super bossy son of a bitch. So do it. Marry the narc and no one will think less of you. — Eve Dangerfield

Ow! Shit!" She yelped, dropping the wand on the floor and clapping her hand over her eye, the one into which she'd just smooshed a nice glob of viscous black goo. She fumbled for a wash cloth, wet it, and scrubbed at her watering eye. Years of exposure to her foul-mouthed brothers came pouring out all at once. "Piece of shit god damn son of a bitch! — Kendra Leigh Castle

Dad, I'm not at all sure I can follow you any longer in your simple Christian faith' stated the clergyman's son when he returned from the university for holidays with a fledgling scholar's
assured arrogance. The father's black eyes skewered his son, who was 'lost,' as C.S. Lewis put it
'in the invincible ignorance of his intellect.' 'Son,' the father said, 'That is your freedom, your
terrible freedom. — Ruth Bell Graham

I gave birth to one child, a son, but I have thousands of daughters. You are Black and White, Jewish and Muslim, Asian, Spanish speaking, Native Americans and Aleut. You are fat and thin and pretty and plain, gay and straight, educated and unlettered, and I am speaking to you all. Here is my offering to you. — Maya Angelou

My sons remember me most as a Cardinal. My one son is 26 years old, and I don't think he's ever seen me without a beard. It's not as black as it used to be, but it's still there. — Bruce Sutter

every time this happens
I see my father
my brother
my would be son
I see myself
stop killing us — R H Sin

The black people's struggle has vanquished racism. It was God who created colour. Today Obama, a son of Kenya, a son of Africa, has made it in the United States of America. — Muammar Al-Gaddafi

As he stood in the red light of the oil-lamp, strong, tall, and beautiful, his long black hair sweeping over his shoulders, the knife swinging at his neck, and his head crowned with a wreath of white jasmine, he might easily have been mistaken for some wild god of a jungle legend. -"Son," she said at last, - her eyes were full of pride, - "have any told thee that thou art beautiful beyond all men?"
"Hah?" said Mowgli, for naturally he had never heard anything of the kind. — Rudyard Kipling

The time had come, the people should know the son of Hastur, and the whole world bow to the black stars which hang in the sky over Carcosa. — Robert W. Chambers

Grigorii spared a single glance in his brother's direction. If looks were daggers, that one would've
sliced straight through the volhv's heart. "Here it comes. 'My oldest son . . .'"
"Is a doctor," Evdokia finished in a singsong voice. "And my daughter is an attorney."
Vasiliy raised his chin. "Jealousy is bad for you. Poisons the heart."
"Aha!" Evdokia slapped the table. "How about your youngest, the musician? How is he doing?"
"Yes, what is Vyacheslav doing lately?" Grigorii asked. "Didn't I see him with a black eye yesterday?
Did he whistle a tree onto himself?"
Oh boy.
Curran opened his mouth. Next to him Jim shook his head. His expression looked suspiciously like
fear.
"He is young," Vasiliy said.
"He is spoiled rotten," Evdokia barked. "He spends all his time trying to kill my cat. One child is a
doctor, the other is an attorney, the third is a serial killer in training. — Ilona Andrews

The great thing about being the son of Maya Angelou is that I had the good fortune to grow up around some of the greatest black artists, dancers, singers, musicians, and actors of our time. — Guy Johnson

We have developed communications systems to permit man on earth to talk with man on the moon. Yet mother often cannot talk with daughter, father to son, black to white, labour with management or democracy with communism — Hadley Read

I'm going that way too. I live in Crouch End. Do you want to share a black cab?'
Black cabs were an extravagance that Neve couldn't afford, not this far away from payday, but that wasn't the reason why she declined. 'No,
thank you. I'm perfectly all right with catching the tube.'
'OK, tube it is,' Max agreed, because he was quite obviously emotionally tone deaf and couldn't sense the huge 'kindly bugger off' vibes that
Neve was sure she was emitting. 'You're still mad at me, aren't you?'
'You apologised, why would I still be mad at you?'
'One day we'll laugh about this. When little Tommy asks how we met, I'll say, "Well, son, I threw an ice cube at your mother, then slapped her
arse, and we've been inseparable ever since. — Sarra Manning

Of those who start TaeKwonDo training, only about 5% stick with it until they achieve the Black Belt Rank. Then perhaps 80% of those who earn a Black stop there. — Duk Sung Son

Reading about Bordertown was the first time I saw people like me in speculative fiction. Messed-up kids, making messsed-up choices. I couldn't be a magician's apprentice or a pig keeper who might or might not be a king's son or a princess with a prophecy hanging over my head. But I could, maybe, somehow, be part of a community of artists who loved magic. — Holly Black

Millions of tears have fallen for black sons, brothers, lovers, and friends whose assailants took or maimed their lives and then simply went on their way. — Aberjhani

Catching sight of himself in the long mirrors that ran along the walls, he stiffened in shock ... His eyes were surrounded by black shadows, his shirt smeared with dried blood and filthy mud ...
"Admiring yourself?" The Inquisitor's voice cut through his reverie. "You won't look so pretty when the Clave gets through with you."
"You do seem obsessed with my look ... Could it be that you're attracted to me?"
"Don't be revolting ... You could be my son. — Cassandra Clare

And the centurion who stood by said:
Truly this was a son of God.
Not long ago but everywhere I go
There is a hill and a black windy sky.
Portent of hill, sky, day's eclipse I know;
Hill, sky, the shuddering darkness, these am I.
The dying at His right hand, at His left,
I am - the thief redeemed and the lost thief;
I am the careless folk; I those bereft,
The Well-Belov'd, the women bowed in grief.
The gathering Presence that in terror cried,
In earth's shock in the Temple's veil rent through,
I; and a watcher, ignorant, curious-eyed,
I the centurion who heard and knew — Adelaide Crapsey

May walked slowly around the body, studying it. Putrefaction had been halted in its advance, but the corpse's skin had turned green and black, producing an acrid odour. He found it hard to imagine that this man had recently been walking around, eating in restaurants, watching TV. He was someone's lover, someone's son, but there was almost nothing human left. Without a head his trunk bore an unsettling similarity to something you would find in a meat locker. How would his loved ones feel if they could see him like this? 'Get anything else?' 'It's tricky because the usual decay process has been interrupted by the relatively sterile storage of the body. Usually, after two to three days you get staining on the abdomen. The discolouration spreads, veins grow dark, the skin blisters after a week, tissue starts softening and nails fall off at around the three-week stage, and finally the face becomes unrecognisable as the skin liquefies - — Christopher Fowler

Then it occurred to her (Elizabeth Keckley) that if Tad (Lincoln's son) had been a colored boy rather than the son of a president, and a teacher had found him so difficult to instruct, he would have been ridiculed as a dunce and held up as evidence of the inferiority of the entire race. Tad was bright; Elizabeth knew that well, and she was sure that with proper instruction and hard work, a glimmer of his father's genius would show in him too. But Elizabeth knew many black boys Tad's age who could read and write beautifully, and yet the myth of inferiority persisted. The unfairness of the assumptions stung. If a white child appeared dull, the entire race was deemed unintelligent. It seemed to Elizabeth that if one race should not judged by a single example, then neither should any other. — Jennifer Chiaverini

I'm sure no intelligent white person in his or her right white mind, want black men and women marrying their white sons and daughters and in return introducing their grandchildren to half brown, kinky haired black people. — Muhammad Ali