Between the World and Me: Remembered and Inspirational Quotes

I am trying to make sense of how I can move through the world in a way that makes sense to me.

Between the world and me, there are truths that lie beneath the surface, waiting to be discovered.

Between the world and me, there exists a wide gulf of understanding, a bridge I endeavor to build every day.

The distance between the world and me isn’t measured in miles, but in moments.

Between the world and me, there are silent conversations, whispered secrets, and unspoken promises.

The world and I reside in two different dimensions, but it is up to me to bring them together.

Life is nothing but an endless dialogue between the world and me.

Between the world and me, there’s always an exchange of wisdom.

In the grand scheme of things, I am but a single note in the vast symphony between the world and me.

Between the world and me, there are stories to tell, experiences to share, and lessons to learn.

Isolation is merely the distance between the world and me.

Between the world and me exists an understanding: we shape each other as we evolve.

The world speaks to me in colors; in return, I respond with emotion.

Between the world and me, there is an undefined bond that thrives in the beauty of our existence.

Between the world and me, there is no barrier that can’t be crossed with understanding and acceptance.

The world and I, we are poets writing each other’s existence.

Between the World and Me: Remembered and Inspirational Quotes part 2

Between the world and me, there’s a silent pact of mutual inspiration.

Everything that happens in the world affects me, and everything I do, in turn, affects the world.

Between the world and me, there exists a delicate balancing act, a dance of give and take.

I am a whisper in the world, and the world is a song within me.

You are your own stories and therefore free to imagine and experience what it means to be human without wealth.

The question is not how far I’ve come but the distance I traveled.

People who believe they are white are actually colorless, without human meaning, icy, lost.

When our world falls apart, we either fight or fall into despair.

Our bodies are prisons for our souls. Our skin and blood, the iron bars of confinement.

You are not a lottery ticket. You are a drop in the great ocean of life.

The dream is the enemy of all art, courageous thinking and honest writing.

Whoever controls the narrative controls the world.

We are all our own gods, trapped in a cosmic loneliness.

It is not necessary that you believe that the officer who choked Eric Garner set out that day to destroy a body. All you need to understand is that the officer carries with him the power of the American state and the weight of an American legacy, and they necessitate that of the bodies destroyed every year, some wild and disproportionate number of them will be black.

What I told you is what your grandparents tried to tell me: that this is your country, that this is your world, that this is your body, and you must find some way to live within the all of it.

But all our phrasing?race relations, racial chasm, racial justice, racial profiling, white privilege, even white supremacy?serves to obscure that racism is a visceral experience, that it dislodges brains, blocks airways, rips muscle, extracts organs, cracks bones, breaks teeth.

I was made for the library, not the classroom. The classroom was a jail of other people?s interests. The library was open, unending, free.

I would have you be a conscious citizen of this terrible and beautiful world.

The classroom was a jail of other people?s interests. The library was open, unending, free.

I am wounded. I am marked by old codes, which shielded me in one world and then chained me in the next.

I have spent much of my studies searching for the right question by which I might fully understand the breach between the world and me.

But all our phrasing?race relations, racial chasm, racial justice, racial profiling, white privilege, even white supremacy?serves to obscure that racism is a visceral experience.

The point of this language of ‘intention’ and ‘personal responsibility’ is broad exoneration.

America believes itself exceptional, the greatest and noblest nation ever to exist.

What one ‘writes’ is only the skin of a living thought.

The struggle is really all I have for you because it is the only portion of this world under your control.

You have been cast into a race in which the wind is always at your face and the hurdles are always getting higher.

But race is the child of racism, not the father. And the process of naming ‘the people’ has never been a matter of genealogy and physiognomy so much as one of hierarchy.

Not being violent enough could cost me my body. Being too violent could cost me my body.

History is not solely in our hands. And still you are called to struggle, not because it assures you victory but because it assures you an honorable and sane life.

What matters is whether the destruction is the result of a premeditated and conscious choice.

We live in a beautiful country. But it is a beauty conjured in the dream against the rude beasts. It is a beauty that has a lovely roof and that makes it easy to forget its grounding in the plunder of black life.