I've been thinking a lot about folks denying what has happened in history, or just not acknowledging it.

It's hard for black women to ask for help. We think we don't need it. We're used to being in pain and living with it.

I think sometimes the stars align whether we want them to or not. And we're drawn to certain people and places for no other reason than...Destiny.

I think that we need to make it our goal to define freedom for ourselves.

We kind of have to rewrite our own stories and our own ways of being free.

We can look at history and see that [political turmoil is] fertile ground for art.

Sometimes I feel as though I'm trying to take a hit for the team so that other people then can move forward. I'm like, "Look, I just laid out all of my stuff, so what's the worst that can happen?".

In my experience when I do try to avoid something, it makes its way into the work anyway. To be in front of it and just make friends with it is easier for me.

Аrt movements are always linked to some kind of turmoil.

I really hope that people feel permission to talk about their own troubles, but also to celebrate themselves.

Sometimes it's just rejecting stereotypes, sometimes it's creating work. Sometimes it's just blocking out the noise.

Sometimes you have to get sad before you get happy 'cause otherwise how would you know the difference?

I became lost in a world darkened beyond any known shade of black, and the only light that I have seen since...is you.

Basset Hounds never get scared. We’re fearless, resolute and know how to season a good lamb chop.

Language has an ideological agenda that is apt to be hidden from view.

The best cure for worry, depression, melancholy, brooding, is to go deliberately forth and try to lift with one's sympathy the gloom of somebody else.

The sciences are the 'how,' and the humanities are the 'why' - why are we here, why do we believe in the things we believe in. I don't think you can have the 'how' without the 'why.'

Make your links from blog comments genuine.

A troublesome question? Those tend to be the only whorthwhile kind.

Ring out your bells! Let mourning show be spread! For Love is dead.

I don't come to tournaments to make friends, to go to parties, to hold conversations. I come to be the best, and I'm not mean and cruel and dirty.