Baby Suggs grew tired, went to bed and stayed there until her big old heart quit. Except for an occasional request for color she said practically nothing — until the afternoon of the last day of her life when she got out of bed, skipped slowly to the door of the keeping room and announced to Sethe and Denver the lesson she had learned from her sixty years a slave and ten years free: that there was no bad luck in the world but white people. ‘They don’t know when to stop,’ she said, and returned to her bed, pulled up the quilt and left them to hold that thought forever.
Baby Suggs on Whitefolks. Toni Morrison’s Beloved.
I have not read most of the big 19th—century novels that people consider “essential,” nor most of the 20th-century ones for that matter. But this does not embarrass me. There are many films to see, many friends to visit, many walks to take, many playlists to assemble and many favorite books to reread. Life’s too short for anxious score-keeping. Also, my grandmother is illiterate, and she’s one of the best people I know. Reading is a deep personal consolation for me, but other things console, too.
Teju Cole (via ethiopienne)
In response to the question, “What books are you embarrassed not to have read yet?”
I am so glad for this answer. I tire of "but did you read [insert cishet White man with anti-intersectional perspectives and White Savior Industrial Complex]" bla bla or “did you read [insert cishet White woman with book deemed ‘revolutionary’ for ‘all women’]” yet it speaks nothing to my life at all.
Over it. Read what you want.(via gradientlair)