Quotes About Humanity

and all sorts of strange people were around, people who looked more at home than she was, even the homeless ones who spoke no English, more at home maybe because they were younger, and when she went out it seemed to her that she too had migrated, that everyone migrates, even if we stay in the same houses our whole lives, because we can't help it. We are all migrants through time.

and you are ready, ready to die well, ready to die like a man, like a woman, like a human, for despite all else you have loved, you have loved your father and your mother and your brother and your sister and your son and, yes, your ex-wife and you have loved the pretty girl, you have been beyond yourself, and so you have courage, and you have ...

a white man had indeed shot a dark man, but also that the dark man and the white man were the same.

All over the world people were slipping away from where they had been, from once fertile plains cracking with dryness, from seaside villages gasping beneath tidal surges, from overcrowded cities and murderous battlefields, and slipping away from other people too, people they had in some cases loved.

When he prayed he touched his parents, who could not otherwise be touched, and he touched a feeling that we are all children who lose our parents, all of us, every man and woman and boy and girl, and we too will all be lost by those who come after us and love us, and this loss unites humanity, unites every human being, the temporary nature of our being-ness, and our shared sorrow, the heartache we each carry and yet too often refuse to acknowledge in one another

There are two kinds of humor. One kind that makes us chuckle about our foibles and our shared humanity -- like what Garrison Keillor does. The other kind holds people up to public contempt and ridicule -- that's what I do. Satire is traditionally the weapon of the powerless against the powerful. I only aim at the powerful. When satire is aimed at the powerless, it is not only cruel -- it's vulgar.

There is no such thing as a truly single person, only a lonely one. Humans are porous in the borders of our skins, these walking micro cities.

He said, "Only you." I was alone and he was alone and we had nothing in common short of being human at night.

Ä°nsan?n doÄŸuÅŸunu görmekten herkes kaçar ama ölümünü görmeye hep koÅŸa koÅŸa gideriz. Ä°nsan? öldürmek için gün ?????nda, geniÅŸ meydanlar arar?z ama onu yaratmak için karanl?k köÅŸelere gizleniriz.

Biz pek ÅŸaÅŸk?n varl?klar?z: Filanca hayat?n? iÅŸsiz güçsüz geçirdi, deriz; bugün hiçbir ÅŸey yapmad?m, deriz. -Bir ÅŸey yapmad?m da ne demek? YaÅŸad?n?z ya!

Benim bütün çabam kimseye muhtaç olmadan yaÅŸamakt?r. Ä°nsanlar hiçbir ÅŸeyimi almazlarsa, bana çok ÅŸey vermiÅŸ olurlar. Hiçbir kötülük etmezlerse, yeterince iyilik etmiÅŸ olurlar.

There is nothing so beautiful and legitimate as to play the man well and properly, no knowledge so hard to acquire as the knowledge of how to live this life well and naturally; and the most barbarous of our maladies is to despise our being.

Human beings are curious, and especially curious about other human beings.

Even those people who have no sorrow of their own often feel melancholy from the circumstances in which they are placed.

F]ew people have never hurt anyone or been guilty of any serious lapse [...]

Give no one in all the world the power to deflect you from your goal, your aim in life, which is to express your hidden talents to the world, to serve humanity, and to reveal more and more of God's wisdom, truth, and beauty to all people in the world.

TABLE OF CONTENTS The Sentimentalists, by Murray Leinster The Girls from Earth, by Frank Robinson The Death Traps of FX-31, by Sewell Wright Song in a minor key, by C.L. Moore Sentry of the Sky, by Evelyn E. Smith Meeting of the Minds, by Robert Sheckley Junior, by Robert Abernathy Death Wish, by Ned Lang Dead World, by Jack Douglas Cost of Living, by Robert Sheckley Aloys, by R.A. Lafferty

But the posthuman does not really mean the end of humanity. It Signals instead the end of a certain conception of the human, a conception that may have applied, at best, to that fraction of humanity who had the wealth, power, and leisure to conceptualize themselves as autonomous beings exercising their will through individual agency and choice.

We don't read and write poetry because its cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is full of passion.

Wolves exhibiting strange behaviour -- caught in traps and thrashing about, injured by other creatures or by bullets, pups suffering from epilepsy -- are attacked and killed by their pack members. But here everyone is human and must try to understand each other's mystery. Each other's pain.

Only twenty - nine years in the entire human history had been without warfare, and now here he was too, travelling between the episodes of a rapacious civil war.

We are not men of hate, but we must be men of justice.

I decided it is better to scream. Silence is the real crime against humanity.

My answer is: Recognize yourself in others