Quotes About Defiance

I am not the sort of woman of whom Marie Corelli would approve.

I would love to get my hands on whoever did this. But he already knew that he could administer all the punishment in the world, and it would have no effect, because the ones who had done this were stupid people, who had absolutely no doubt that they were in the right. No matter what they were told, no matter how many times they got caught and punished, they would go straight out and do it again. They knew they were right, and nothing would shake that faith.

Survival is a form of resistance.

Please admit bearer to class— Detained by me for going Up the Down staircase and subsequent insolence. JJ McH

None of us should be ashamed to speak of our class power or lack of it. Overcoming fear, even the fear of being immodest, and acting courageously to bring issues of class- especially radical standpoints – into the discourse of blackness is a gesture of militant defiance, one that runs counter to bourgeois insistence that we think of "money" in particular and class in general as private matters.

Moving from silence into speech is for the oppressed, the colonized, the exploited, and those who stand and struggle side by side a gesture of defiance that heals, that makes new life and new growth possible.

I was a young girl buying bubble gum at the corner store when I first really heard the full name bell hooks. I had just 'talked back' to a grown person. Even now I can recall the surprised look, the mocking tones that informed me I must be kin to bell hooks - a sharp-tongued woman, a woman who spoke her mind, a woman who was not afraid to talk back. I claimed this legacy of defiance, of will, of courage, affirming my link to my female ancestors who were bold and daring in their speech.

But that is a method for cowards; the brave man goes out into the hall, comes back with a stick, and says firmly, You have just deliberately and cruelly exposed my ignorance before this company; I shall, therefore, beat you soundly with this stick in the presence of them all. This you then do to him or he to you, mutatis mutandis, ceteris paribus; and that is all I have to say on Ignorance.

Freedom is not reserved for those unwilling to fight for it.

Do not I know if women have a will They'll do 'gainst all the watches o'the world? (2. 7. 8-9)

Thy worst. I fart at thee.

I had rather starve to death here, being a free man, than to have plenty in slavery. I cannot be a slave any more,--nobody could hold me as a slave now, except in irons. Old as I am, I would rather face the Russian fire, or die at the point of the sword, than go into slavery. [Philip Younger, 72 years old]

You're a bastard, I said. Uhtred, he began, but could find nothing more to say. You're a piece of weasel-shit, I said, you're an earsling. I'm a king, he said, trying to regain his dignity. So you're a royal piece of weasel-shit. An earsling on a throne.

I was still screaming at the enemy, promising them death. I was Thor, I was Odin, I was the lord of battle.

Well damn him. I was not dead yet, and so long as I lived I would fight for Æthelflaed.

Always fight the horse, not the rider.

Tomorrow, he shouted, you do not fight for me! I fight for you! I fight for Wessex! I fight for your wives, for your children and your homes! Tomorrow we fight and, I swear to you on my father's grave and on my children's lives, tomorrow we shall win!

It is hard to force obedience," he said, "without encouraging resentment.

Your mother didn't give birth to you, I told hint, but farted you out of her shrivelled arsehole. Frightened or not, Asser said, you've taken Peredur's silver, so you must fight them now. Say one more word, monk, I said, and I'll cut off your scrawny balls.

The story hurries now. It quickens like a stream coming to a fall in the hills and, like a cascade foaming down jumbled rocks, it gets angry and violent, confused even. For it was in that year, 876, that the Danes made their greatest effort yet to rid England of its last kingdom, and the onslaught was huge, savage, and sudden.

I ignored Waldhere and still spoke

We are going to soak this rock with blood! I am Uhtred! I am the lord here. This is my rock!

St George!' the English shouted, but the saint must have been sleeping for he gave the attackers no help.

I had unlaced my cheek-pieces, let them see the blood on my face, see the blood on my mail, the blood on my hands. I was a man of gold and of blood. I was a lord of war and I was filled with the rage of battle. The enemy were ten paces away and I walked five of those paces so that I stood alone, facing them. This, I snarled at them, is my rock.