Quotes About Defiance

He looked down the table again and felt an irrational urge to push poor Mr. Watts out of his chair when Miss Greaves tilted her head toward him to hear something he'd said. He caught her eye briefly and she stared back in defiance, her mouth twisting tragically before looking away again. Something was wrong. She was leaking emotion.

Have you no care for your reputation?" She stepped toward him until she was so close he fancied he breathed the same air as she and when she tilted her face up to look at him he saw that she wasn't nearly as calm as he'd imagined. "No," she murmured, her voice a siren's song, "none at all." "Then I'll be damned if I will," he muttered and kissed her.

Tell me, Mr. Harte, do you ever give up? Never. His green eyes narrowed as his mouth firmed. He looked very much as he had when he'd struck Mr. Sherwood: savage, uncompromising, a force to be reckoned with. She should be afraid of this man. Perhaps she was. Perhaps the hammering of her heart, the quickening of her breath were fear. But if she were, she chose to disregard it. Very well. He sat back, a wide, lopsided grin spreading over his face, just as Ruth entered with another tray.

there are things you have to do for yourself, even if everyone else thinks you're crazy.

I believe you would square off at Satan if he came around and inconvenienced you!

No, no, you needn't slap me; I am not at all hysterical.

Nay!" he shouted out loud

Her family held strongly that for daughters to read in the daytime was to be idle. Well, if it was, thought Ingeborg lifting her head, that head that drooped so apologetically at home, with the defiance that distance encourages, then being idle was a blessed thing and the sooner one got away to where one could be it, uninterruptedly, the better.

Pick your own act of defiance, something that says to you—and to others—that you won't go along with the hate.

Sometimes it pays to fight back, even when everyone says it would be better to give up.

A whore, we've established that, filthy, it goes without saying, but whatever else the hell I am, I AM NOT ENGLISH.

Von Loewe really should know me well enough by now to realize that I am not going to face my execution without a fight. Or with anything remotely resembling dignity.

I intend to scream, shout, race the engine, call when I feel like it, throw tantrums in Bloomingdale's if I feel like it and confess intimate details about my life to complete strangers. I intend to do what I want to do and be whom I want to be and answer only to myself: that is, quite simply, the bitch philosophy...

Bitch: In praise of difficult women.

Bad girls understand that there is no point in being good and suffering in silence. What good has good ever done?

I do not make the rules [. . .] This annoys me, and so I comfort myself by breaking them

Do I have to recite any further risks you have taken? How much you have not conformed? How much internal bravery this implies?

Blind and unwavering undisciplined at all times constitutes the real strength of all free men.

They had been the underdog, fit only to endure the punishment inflicted on them. But sufficiently provoked, there is hardly a creature on God's earth that ultimately won't turn and attempt to fight, regardless of the odds.

I would rather die and to go hell than wake up one day and find myself an inmate in that guesthouse of gone minds, gone things, bad carpets, furniture that needs permission.

She is not a girl. She is a block of stone. She is a piece of wall. She is something against which other things impact without her permission or understanding.

Detta gör dem rasande. Bra. De är från generationen som njuter av att vara rasande

And I withdrew into myself when I understood that they wanted to extract every thought in my head, one by one, like decayed teeth.

Sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll is easy. True christianity…that's rebellion.