Quotes About Confrontation

Maintaining connections with family and community across class boundaries demands more than just summary recall of where one's roots are, where one comes from. It requires knowing, naming, and being ever-mindful of those aspects of one's past that have enabled and do enable one's self-development in the present, that sustain and support, that enrich. One must also honestly confront barriers that do exist, aspects of that past that do diminish.

Love allows us to confront these negative realities in a manner that is life-affirming and life enhancing.

It is my deep belief that in talking about the past, in understanding the things that have happened to us we can heal and go forward. Some people believe that it is best to put the past behind you, to never speak about the events that have happened that have hurt or wounded us, and this is their way of coping —but coping is not healing. By confronting the past without shame we are free of its hold on us.

Unfortunately it is often easier to ignore, dismiss, reject, and even hurt one another rather than engage in constructive confrontation.

If we succeed without confronting and changing shaking foundation of low self-esteem rooted in contempt of hatred, we will falter along the way.

there is no stigma attached to acknowledging a lack of love in one's primary relationships. And if one's goal is self-recovery, to be well in one's soul, honestly and realistically confronting lovelessness is part of the healing process.

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.

The best way to respond to distracting personal attacks is to practice bringing the conversation back to the issue at hand. Never fall into the trap of engaging in personal attacks while letting the topic of conversation slip into the background. Doing so allows your opponent to escape the need to explain her position.

I had a large camping knife in my hand and without thinking, I lunged at him, plunging the knife into his abdomen.

People are pushing, chesting up, there's much half-assed shoving and garbled smack talk about who dissed who and who crossed whose line and of course everybody's gotta have their boy's back. A melee, you'd call it. A fracas. Not quite a throw-down brawl right here on the sacred turf of Texas Stadium.

Next thing she knows she's lying flat on her back and three grizzled Mexicans are standing over her, trying

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.

The Immortals were about to engage the Impregnable. The unbeaten would fight the unbeatable.

We had to fight, because to decline battle was a defeat.

Earsling,' a harsh voice challenged me from beside the Wheatsheaf's heart. 'What rancid demon brought you here to spoil my day?' I stared. And stared. Because the last person I had ever expected to see in AEthelred's stronghold of Gleawecestre was staring at me. 'Well, earsling?' he demanded, 'what are you doing here?' It was my father.

Always fight the horse, not the rider.

So what do we do?" Finan asked. "We ride down there," I said, easing my way back from the crest, "we smile politely, and tell the stupid bastard that he's our prisoner.

There's a time for caution,' I said, 'and a time to just kill the bastards.

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.

I forget your name, I said. Most people spew shit from their arse, he retorted, you manage it with your mouth. Your mother gave birth through her arse, I said, and you still reek of her shit.

we fight them where we choose or where we must, not always when we want.

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.

My sword, I told him, says I tell the truth, and that you are a stinking bag of wind, a liar from hell, a cheat and a perjurer who deserves death. Up to our arses again, Leofric said.

You're a boy playing in men's games, Sharpie, and you're going to lose unless you're a man. Are you man enough to fight me here? Put me down? Claim I was kicked by a horse in the night? You can try, Sharpie, but you're not man enough, are you?