Quotes About Poverty

Consequently, many of those who agreed to hide weapons were widows or young, unmarried mothers who desperately needed the money. Most

Pain is not insignificant. Neither is bewilderment or fear. Or conditions like poverty or homelessness. But somewhere—somewhere—there is peace. It is not even far off. It is somewhere deep inside us, in fact, ever present, just waiting for us to look inward to find it." She

A fortune for one man that was more than he needed should not be build on ten thousand ruined men who were left without the means of life.

A fortune for one man that was more than he needed should not be built on ten thousand ruined men who were left without the means of life.

Some days the Arashinos' little grandson, Juntaro, cried from hunger—which is when Mr. Arashino usually decided to sell a kimono from his collection. This was what we Japanese called the "onion life"—peeling away a layer at a time and crying all the while.

Only once did he remark when the starter,which he was trying to open,literally fell to pieces in his hands,:'If you would write for those filthy boulevard papers,monsieur,you could soon buy a Chevrolet'(which was quite unture:In France the prostitutes of the pen were just as badly rewarded as their colleagues on the street corners).

Cada um será tanto mais sociável quanto mais pobre for de espírito, e, em geral, mais vulgar (o que torna o homem saudável é justamente a sua pobreza interior). Pois, no mundo, não se tem muito além da escolha entre solidão e a vulgaridade.

Ignorance is degrading only when it is found in company with riches.

Some days he walked along the banks of the river that smelled of shit and pesticides bought with World Bank loans.

they asked the poor what it was like to be poor, the hungry what it was like to be hungry, the homeless what it was like to be homeless.

If you think of the world as a global village, a fight between India and Pakistan is like a fight between the poorest people in the poorest quarters - the Adivasis and the Dalits. And in the meantime, the zamindars are laying the oil pipelines and selling both parties weapons.

The trees were still green, the sky still blue, which counted for something. So they went ahead and plugged their smelly paradise - God's Own Country they called it in their brochures - because they knew, those clever Hotel People, that smelliness, like other peoples' poverty, was merely a matter of getting used to. A question of discipline. Of Rigor and Air-conditioning. Nothing more.

The question is, can poverty be simulated? Poverty, after all, is not just a question of having no money or no possessions. Poverty is about having no power. The battle of the poor and the powerless is one of reclamation, not renunciation.

Are we] far more comfortable with the idea of poor people killing themselves in despair than with the idea of them fighting back?

Not everybody likes the idea of their cities filling up with the poor. A judge in Bombay called slum dwellers pickpockets of urban land. Another said, while ordering the bulldozing of unauthorized colonies, that people who couldn't afford to live in cities shouldn't live in them. When those who had been evicted went back to where they came from, they found their villages had disappeared under great dams and dusty quarries.

La maladie, ce n'est pas le terrorisme, c'est l'extrême injustice

Gandhi always said that he wanted to live like the poorest of the poor. The question is, can poverty be simulated? Poverty, after all, is not just a question of having no money or no possessions. Poverty is about having no power.

You can see them from your car window when you drive home every night. Try not to look away. Try to meet their eyes.

in Delhi there was no war other than the usual one – the war of the rich against the poor.

With a street-fighter's unerring insticts, Comrade Pillai knew that his straitened circumstances (his small, hot house, his grunting mother, his obvious proximity to the toiling masses) gave him a power over Chacko that in those revolutionary times no amount of Oxford education could match. He held his poverty like a gun to Chacko's head.

So they went ahead and plugged their smelly paradise— God's Own Country they called it in their brochures—because they knew, those clever Hotel People, that smelliness, like other peoples' poverty, was merely a matter of getting used to. A question of discipline. Of Rigor and Air-conditioning. Nothing more.

There's a lot of money in poverty, and a few Nobel Prizes too.

What kind of justice is this? Where the poor go to prison and the rich go free. Where witnesses are rented, bought, or bribed. Where people are tried not because of any criminal actions but because of their political beliefs.

In 1913, Mabel Nassau, a Columbia University graduate student, conducted a neighborhood study of the living conditions of one hundred elderly people in Greenwich Village—sixty-five women and thirty-five men. In this era before pensions and Social Security, all were poor. Only twenty-seven were able to support themselves—living off savings, taking in lodgers, or doing odd jobs like selling newspapers, cleaning homes, mending umbrellas. Most were too ill or debilitated to work.