Quotes About Resistance

Can't stop a Nazi with a lawbook.

Please tell Field Marshal Goring for me, to stick his Swiss bank account up his fat ass.

Again, once one is attacked in war one can either give up and submit to looting, or one can fight. To fight means to try to frighten the other side, by a lot of murder, into stopping the war.

Most people who have made big career changes have heard loved ones tell them, "You're out of your mind." Sabotage is not their intention, but a shared history has entrenched certain expectations, and reinventing oneself can amount to breaking the implicit "contract." People who have quit smoking, lost weight, or gotten divorced are familiar with the mixed reactions of friends, who see the change as loss.

Here they resisted to the last, with their swords if they had them, and if not, with their hands and teeth

Ma soeur a mis le feu à sa chambre en lisant la nuit avec une lampe de poche sous son duvet pour que mon père ne voie pas de lumière passer sous la porte. Mais elle l'a éteint toute seule, en battant l'édredon contre le mur, et en ouvrant la fenêtre pour évacuer la fumée. Quand ma mère entre le matin dans sa chambre, elle trouve tout cramé. Mes parents n'ont plus la force de rosser ma soeur, elle résiste trop dignement à leurs coups.

Ha de saberse que si se cede a una tentación, muy luego se presenta como el rayo la oportunidad de incurrir en ella.

It's the living who struggle to accept death.

Every time reason stands against the human, the human will stand against the reason

First she said we were to keep clear of the Sirens, who sit and sing most beautifully in a field of flowers; but she said I might hear them myself so long as no one else did. Therefore, take me and bind me to the crosspiece half way up the mast; bind me as I stand upright, with a bond so fast that I cannot possibly break away, and lash the rope's ends to the mast itself. If I beg and pray you to set me free, then bind me more tightly still.

The belly's a shameless dog, there's nothing worse.      Always insisting, pressing, it never lets us forget Ã¢â'¬â€      destroyed as I am, my heart racked with sadness,      sick with anguish, still it keeps demanding,      Ã¢â'¬ËœEat, drink!' It blots out all the memory      of my pain, commanding, 'Fill me up!

I am going to stand against him now, though his hands are like flame, though his hands are like flame, and his heart like the shining of iron.

Steer wide; keep well to seaward; plug your oarsmen's ears with beeswax kneaded soft; none of the rest should hear that song. But if you wish to listen, let the men tie you in the lugger, hand and foot, back to the mast, lashed to the mast, so you may hear those harpies' thrilling voices; shout as you will, begging to be untied, your crew must only twist more line around you and keep their stroke up, till the singers fade.

But human beings are not machines, and however powerful the pressure to conform, they sometimes are so moved by what they see as injustice that they dare to declare their independence. In that historical possibility lies hope.

They have the guns, we have the poets. Therefore, we will win.

If history is to be creative, to anticipate a possible future without denying the past, it should, I believe, emphasize new possibilities by disclosing those hidden episodes of the past when, even if in brief flashes, people showed their ability to resist, to join together, occasionally to win. I am supposing, or perhaps only hoping, that our future may be found in the past's fugitive movements of compassion rather than in its solid centuries of warfare.

When you fight a war against a tyrant, who do you kill? You kill the victims of the tyrant.

Crosses and gallows - that deadly historic juxtaposition.

Let us in the name of the Holy Trinity go on sending all the slaves that can be sold.

Small acts, when multiplied by millions of people, can quietly become a power no government can suppress, a power than can transform the world.

Civil disobedience is not our problem. Our problem is civil obedience.

Percy Bysshe Shelley's "Mask of Anarchy." . . . "Rise like lions after slumber In unvanquishable number! Shake your chains to earth, like dew Which in sleep had fallen on you— Ye are many, they are few!

The struggle may be a moral one; or it may be a physical one; or it may be both moral and physical, but it must be a struggle. Power concedes nothing without a demand.

His friend and fellow writer, Ralph Waldo Emerson, agreed, but thought it futile to protest. When Emerson visited Thoreau in jail and asked, "What are you doing in there?" it was reported that Thoreau replied, "What are you doing out there?