Quotes About Rebellion

The Aunts had their methods, and their informants: no walls were solid for them, no doors locked.

then she smiled and said that we were precious flowers, and who ever heard of a rebellious flower?

She expected too much from me, I felt. She expected me to vindicate her life for her, and the choices she'd made. I didn't want to live my life on her terms. I didn't want to be the model offspring, the incarnation of her ideas. We used to fight about that. I am not your justification for existence, I said to her once.

Moira had power now, she'd been set loose, she'd set herself loose. She was now a loose woman. I think we found this frightening.

He thought about hacking in and recoding the program so that when the axe came down you got the

and then she smiled and said that we were precious flowers, and who ever heard of a rebellious flower?

I didn't want to be the model offspring, the incarnation of her ideas.

best friends led to whispering and plotting and keeping secrets, and plotting and secrets led to disobedience to God, and disobedience led to rebellion, and girls who were rebellious became women who were rebellious, and a rebellious woman was even worse than a rebellious man because rebellious men became traitors, but rebellious women became adulteresses.

I hate petit point. I want to make bread." "We can't always do what we want," said Zilla gently. "Even you." "And sometimes we have to do what we hate," said Vera. "Even you." "Don't let me, then!" I said. "You're being mean!" And I ran out of the kitchen.

I can see this idea gathering in Cordelia as well. Maybe she's gone too far, hit, finally, some core of resistance in me. If I refuse to do what she says this time, who knows where my defiance will end?

the young are idealistic, have an underdeveloped sense of their own mortality, and are afflicted with an exaggerated thirst for justice.

I had no faith in the wise choices of the Aunts: I feared that I would end up married to a goat on fire.

For the very first time the young are seeing history being made before it is censored by their elders.

Supposed I don't want to redeem myself? Why should I fight to uphold the system that cast me out? I shall take pleasure in seeing it smashed.

When I first met you, I thought: There is a girl in a million. She isn't like these other silly little fools who believe everything their mammas tell them and act on it, no matter how they feel. And conceal all their feelings and desires and little heartbreaks behind a lot of sweet words. I thought: Miss O'Hara is a girl of rare spirit. She knows what she wants and she doesn't mind speaking her mind–or throwing vases.

Scarlett kicked the coverlet in impotent rage, trying to think of something bad enough to say. 'God's nightgown!' she cried at last, and felt somewhat relieved.

I'm tired of everlastingly being unnatural and never doing anything I want to do. I'm tired of acting like I don't eat more than a bird, and walking when I want to run and saying I feel faint after a waltz, when I could dance for two days and never get tired. I'm tired of saying, 'How wonderful you are!' to fool men who haven't got one-half the sense I've got, and I'm tired of pretending I don't know anything, so men can tell me things and feel important while they're doing it.

Oh, I don't care! I don't care what they say!" she whispered, as a sweet madness swept over her.

Give me a good horse to ride and some good licker to drink and a good girl to court and a bad girl to have fun with and anybody can have their own Europe.... What do we care about missing the tour?

How closely women crutch the very chains that bind them!

All you've done is to be different from other women and you've made a little success at it. As I've told you before, that is the one unforgivable sin in any society. Be different and be damned! Scarlett, the mere fact that you've made a success of your mill is an insult to every man who hasn't succeeded. Remember, a well-bred female's place is in the home and she should know nothing about this busy, brutal world.

She was permitting herself the luxury she had often dreamed-of doing exactly what she pleased and telling people who didn't like it to go to hell. To her had come that pleasant intoxication peculiar to those whose lives are a deliberate slap in the fact of organized society-the gambler, the confidence man, the polite adventuress, all those who succeed by their wits.

You want to be yourself, idiosyncratic; the collective (school, rules, jobs, technology) wants you generic to the point of castration.

It is difficult not to wonder whether that combination of elements which produces a machine for labor does not create also a soul of sorts, a dull resentful metallic will, which can rebel at times.