Quotes About Rebellion

My name is Danielle. I'm eighteen. I've been stealing things for as long as I can remember.

There's no good way to die, you know? No way I've seen, anyway. It all ends with tubes and bedpans and IVs and I just-- smoking gets me out of there. Gets me outside, gets me away from all the--" "Sick people?" I say, and she shakes her head. "Away from my life.

Everyone else carries a backpack, but not Josh. He has a cool, beat-up messenger bag, covered with stickers protesting all kinds of things.

Hoot, Johnie Rousseau mon, what for hae ye sae mony figmangairies? You're a bonny man indeed to mauk siccan a wark; set ye up. Canna ye just live like ither fowk?

two-thousand-year struggle for the soul of Western civilization, which today extends to all civilizations: a struggle born from an act of rebellion. It came around 360 BCE, when the young Aristotle, son of the court doctor of the Macedonian kings, turned against the ideas of his famous teacher, Plato of Athens, and set out to create a school of his own.

When the ruler or rulers failed to act in the people's interest, Buchanan wrote, then each and every citizen, even "the lowest and meanest of men," had the sacred right and duty to resist that tyrant, even to the point of killing him.

The Fitzgeralds] rode down Fifth Avenue on the top of taxis because it was hot or dove into the fountain at Union Square or tried to undress at the Scandals, or, in sheer delight at the splendor of new York, jumped, dead sober, into the Pulitzer fountain in front of the Plaza. Fitzgerald got in fights with waiters and Zelda danced on people's dinner tables.

I! I who fashioned myself a sorcerer or an angel, who dispensed with all morality, I have come back to the earth.

Satan, you clown, you want to dissolve me with your charms. Well, I want it. I want it! Stab me with a pitchfork, sprinkle me with fire!

When we are strongest- who draws back? Most merry- who falls down laughing? When we are very bad,- what can they do to us?

Yes, my eyes are closed to your light. I am an animal, a nigger. But I can be saved. You are fake niggers; maniacs, savages, misers, all of you. - Bad Blood

No one's serious at seventeen, When lindens line the promenades

As of today, I rebel against death! Work seems frivolous; I'm a proud man, and a lifetime's work would be too brief an agony for me. At the last moment, I'd attack...to the right...to the left...And then—oh!—sweet old soul of mine, eternity would not have been wasted on us!

Pagan blood returns!

À moi. L'histoire d'une de mes folies. - Une saison en enfer

Hire myself out to whom? What beast must I worship? What sacred images should I destroy? What hearts shall I break? What lies am I supposed to believe? March through whose blood?

Peut-on s'extasier dans la destruction, se rajeunir par la cruauté !

Le poète est vraiment voleur de feu.

Priests, professors, masters, you are wrong to turn me over to Justice. I have never belonged to this people. I have never been Christian. I am of the race that sang under torture. I do not understand your laws. I have no moral sense, I am a brute.

Yes, my eyes are closed to your light. I am a beast, a nigger. But I can be saved. You are sham niggers, you, maniacs, fiends, misers. Merchant, you are a nigger; Judge, you are a nigger; General, you are a nigger; Emperor, old itch, you are a nigger: you have drank of the untaxed liquor of Satan's still.

Delivered to oblivion...growing and flowering with incense and weeds to the sullen whine of nasty flies... I loved deserts, burnt out orchards, faded boutiques...I dragged myself down stinking alleyways... General, if there's an old cannon left, aim for the glass of splendid shops, into the living rooms...make the city eat its own dust.

The Poet, therefore, is truly the thief of fire.

You break From earthly approval And common urges: Then soar, accordingly

Delivered to oblivion...growing and flowering with incense and weeds to the sullen whine of nasty flies...I loved deserts, burned out orchards, faded boutiques...I dragged myself down stinking alleyways...General, if there's an old canon left, aim for the glass of splendid shops, into the living rooms...make the city eat its own dust.