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“A little white woman, . . . [a] tiny little white woman I could fit in my pocket.â€� . . . ‘And I don’t know why I’m surprised. You don’t even notice it â€� you never notice. You think it’s normal. Everywhere we go, I’m alone in thisâ€� this sea of white. I barely know any black folk any more, Howie. My whole life is white. I don’t see any black folk unless they be cleaning under my feet in the fucking café in your fucking college. Or pushing a fucking hospital bed through a corridor . . . ‘I gave up my life for you. I don’t even know who I am any more.â€� . . . ‘Could you have found anybody less like me if you’d scoured the earth? . . . My leg weighs more than that woman. What have you made me look like in front of everybody in this town? You married a big black bitch and you run off with a fucking leprechaun?”
― Zadie Smith, On Beauty

“Claire spoke often in her poetry of the idea of ‘fittingnessâ€�: that is, when your chosen pursuit and your ability to achieve it â€� no matter how small or insignificant both might be â€� are matched exactly, are fitting. This, Claire argued, is when we become truly human, fully ourselves, beautiful. To swim when your body is made for swimming. To kneel when you feel humble. To drink water when you are thirsty. Or â€� if one wishes to be grand about it â€� to write the poem that is exactly the fitting receptacle of the feeling or thought that you hoped to convey.”
― Zadie Smith

“...the ability to recognize beauty is not a passive act of seeing but an active endeavor of self understanding ...”
― Ocean Vuong