My bohemianism consisted of not wanting to get involved with the stupid stuff that I thought people wanted you to get involved with… namely America… Dwight Eisenhower, McCarthyism and all those great things.
I think that it’s hard enough being an adolescent and wanting so much to fit in with your peers, your schoolmates, and to erase any sign of difference, to be part of the group. And being biracial but also being black in a predominately white school marked me as different.
We have tried you good people of the public and we have found you wanting.
I am not made for politics because I am incapable of wanting or accepting the death of the adversary.
Obama came in really wanting to change things, but he hit a wall of corporate money, oil and coal money: when he tried to pass the Cap and Trade system of pharmaceutical money, when he tried to pass the Obamacare – which, of course, then got watered down into a much less effective, much less economical, program.
People are always giving you credit for really wanting to say more than you said.
There’s an ancient tension between wanting to savor the world as it is and wanting to improve on the world as given.
If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I’m neurotic as hell. I’ll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days.
We only consult the ear because the heart is wanting.
One of my main wishes in wanting to write about my mother was to explore the impact of her death on my life, explore our relationship, think about the different versions of myself that I was with and without her. I also had the really strong wish to bring her to life for my children, who were born after she was gone.