Artists are not cheerleaders, and we're not the heads of tourism boards. We expose and discuss what is problematic, what is contradictory, what is hurtful and what is silenced in the culture we're in.
Junot DiazRead
Tell her that you love her hair, that you love her skin, her lips, because, in truth, you love them more than you love your own.
Interpretation
What this quote means
Expressing love involves appreciating every detail of your partner's being, often placing their qualities above your own.
In this quote, Junot Diaz emphasizes the depth of love that allows one to admire and cherish the personal attributes of a partner. It suggests that true love not only recognizes the beauty in anotherβs physical traits but also signifies a selflessness where one can prioritize the appreciation of their loved one's qualities above their own.
Themes
LoveAppreciationBeautySelflessnessAdmiration
In practice
Example use cases
This quote can be used in a romantic speech to show deep affection.
More from Junot Diaz
All quotes βRun a hand through your hair, like the white boys do, even though the only thing that runs easily through your hair is Africa.
Junot DiazRead
I can see myself watching him shave every morning. And at other time I see us in that house and see how one bright day (or a day like this, so cold your mind shifts every time the wind does) he will wake up and decide it's all wrong. I'm sorry, he'll say. I have to leave now.
Junot DiazRead
Migration gives a blank cheque to put anything you don't feel like addressing in the memory hold. No neighbours can go against the monster narrative of your family.
Junot DiazRead
We all dream dreams of unity, of purity; we all dream that there's an authoritative voice out there that will explain things, including ourselves.
Junot DiazRead
I think 90% of my ideas evaporate because I have a terrible memory and because I seem to be committed to not scribble anything down. As soon as I write it down, my mind rejects it.
Junot DiazRead
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As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee. As still to the star of its worship, though clouded, The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea, So dark when I roam in this wintry world shrouded, The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee.
Charles LambRead