"What is my worth, if I cannot be attractive? What is my worth, if I cannot attract attention? What is my worth if I am not dainty? What is my worth, if I am not skilled in the kitchen? What is my worth if I am not soft-spoken? The language of feminism was meant to answer those question by reminding women, and men who live outside the self-prescribed boxes of gender, that your worth is inherent, it arrived when you were born, it stays with you long after you die.”
— Chinwe Ohanele; "Afromentality-Shame" (via thatkindofwoman)
"I love bookshelves, and stacks of books, spines, typography, and the feel of pages between my fingertips. I love bookmarks, and old bindings, and stars in margins next to beautiful passages. I love exuberant underlinings that recall to me a swoon of language-love from a long-ago reading, something I hoped to remember. I love book plates, and inscriptions in gifts from loved ones, I love author signatures, and I love books sitting around reminding me of them, being present in my life, being. I love books. Not just for what they contain. I love them as objects too, as ever-present reminders of what they contain, and because they are beautiful. They are one of my favorite things in life, really at the tiptop of the list, easily my favorite inanimate things in existence, and … I am just not cottoning on to this idea of making them … not exist anymore. Making them cease to take up space in the world, in my life? No, please do not take away the physical reality of my books.”
— Laini Taylor (via littledallilasbookshelf)
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