Quotes About Oppression

She tore a page from the book and ripped it in half. Then a chapter. Soon, there was nothing but scraps of words littered between her legs and all around her. The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be any of this. Without words, the Führer was nothing. There would be no limping prisoners, no need for consolation or wordly tricks to make us feel better. What good were the words? She said it audibly now, to the orange-lit room. What good are the words?

The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be any of this. Without words, the Führer was nothing. There would be no limping prisoners, no need for consolation or wordly tricks to make us feel better. What good were the words?

In the basement of 33 Himmel Street, Max Vandenburg could feel the fists of an entire nation. One by one they climbed into the ring to beat him down. They made him bleed. They let him suffer. Millions of them--until one last time, when he gathered himself to his feet...

Stars of David were plastered to their shirts, and misery was attached to them as if assigned. Don't forget your misery... In some cases, it grew on them like a vine.

All my life, I've been scared of men standing over me... It makes me understand that the best standover man I've ever known is not a man at all...

Then came Hitler.

The words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be any of this. Without words, the Führer was nothing. There would be no limping prisoners, no need for consolation or wordly tricks to make us feel better.

Stars of David were plastered to their shirts, and misery was attached to them as if assigned. "Don't forget your misery …

the Jews were marching through Molching. They were going to Dachau, to concentrate.

She was a girl. In Nazi Germany. How fitting that she was discovering the power of words.

Frau Lindner war eine scharfkantige Frau mit dicken Brillengläsern und einem ruchlosen Blick. Sie hatte sich diesen Blick zugelegt, um jeden Gedanken an Diebstahl in ihrem Laden im Keim zu ersticken. Sie hütete ihr Geschäft mit einer soldatesken Haltung, einer unterkühlten Stimme, und selbst ihr Atem roch nach Heil Hitler.

Soon, there was nothing but scraps of words littered between her legs and all around her. Ther words. Why did they have to exist? Without them, there wouldn't be any of this. Without words, the Fuhrer was nothing. There would be no limping prisoners, no need for consolation or wordly tricks to make us feel better.

Killing don't need no reason. This is ghetto. Reason is for rich people. We have madness.

But in another city, another valley, another ghetto, another slum, another favela, another township, another intifada, another war, another birth, somebody is singing Redemption Song, as if the Singer wrote it for no other reason but for this sufferah to sing, shout, whisper, weep, bawl, and scream right here, right now.

the Jim Crow South, often the plates off which black people had eaten were broken so that they could not be used again. Baseball great Hank Aaron describes this common practice in his autobiography, noting, "If dogs had eaten off those plates, they'd have washed them."21 So the US South had convoluted and bizarre practices regarding food: blacks could cook and serve food for whites, but they were thought to contaminate the plates they themselves used.

Y es que la pregunta es: ¿qué modo sensato y real puede haber de resarcir una injusticia mediante una venganza punitiva? El dolor y la degradación del opresor no traerá libertad al afligido. Solo un esfuerzo inteligente e imaginativo en pos de la justicia puede lograr algo así.

Now hold up your left palm (you may have to put down this book for a minute) and picture your Wild Child there: 2 inches tall, dressed in skins and bark, covered with scars, waiting for an opportunity to escape or subvert the Dictator's brutal control. Watch until you can see them both clearly in your mind's eye.

Robert Conquest once suggested that 'a curious little volume might be made of the poems of Stalin, Castro, Mao and Ho Chi Minh, with illustrations by A. Hitler.

As I've already mentioned, 1984 and I were getting on famously. A no-frills setup, run without sentiment, snobbery or cultural favouritism, Airstrip One seemed like my kind of town. (I saw myself as an idealistic young corporal in the Thought Police.)

Oppression lays down blood-lust. It lays it down like a wine.

Describing the soap in the gulag] It smelt as if some sacred physical law had been demeaned in its creation.

There are many accounts of prison floors strewn with genitals, breasts, tongues, eyes and ears. Arma virumque cano, and Hitler-Stalin tells us this, among other things: given total power over another, the human being will find that his thoughts turn to torture.

we took the simple step of illegalising all opposition. And the autobahn to autocracy lay clear.

A quote from the London Gay Liberation Front Manifesto: 'The ultimate success of all forms of oppression is our self-oppression. Self-oppression is achieved when the gay person has adopted and internalised straight people's definition of what is good and bad.