N. K. Jemisin

In a child's eyes, a mother is a goddess. She can be glorious or terrible, benevolent or filled with wrath, but she commands love either way. I am convinced that this is the greatest power in the universe.

We can never be gods, after all--but we can become something less than human with frightening ease.

For all those that have to fight for the respect that everyone else is given without question.

I think,” Hoa says slowly, “that if you love someone, you don’t get to choose how they love you back."

But love like that doesn't just disappear, does it? No matter how powerful the hate, there is always a little love left, underneath.
Yes. Horrible, isn't it?

Home is what you take with you, not what you leave behind.

They’re afraid because we exist, she says. There’s nothing we did to provoke their fear, other than exist. There’s nothing we can do to earn their approval, except stop existing – so we can either die like they want, or laugh at their cowardice and go on with our lives.

Being useful to others is not the same thing as being equal.

But for a society build on exploitation, there is no greater threat than having no one left to oppress.