Quotes About Sacrifice

Åžimdiye kadar hiç kimse, sözün al???ld?k anlam?yla, asla kendisini feda etmiÅŸ deÄŸildir - yani, yaln?zca baÅŸkas? için özveride bulunmuÅŸ deÄŸildir. Ä°nsanlar baÅŸkalar? için gündelik feragatlarda bulunurlar, fakat bu öncelikle kendi iyilikleri içindir. Eylem, öncelikle kendi içlerini ferahlatmak zorundad?r. Bundan yararlanan kiÅŸiler ikinci s?rada gelir.

Du moment, madame, où cette mère dénaturée ôte ce qu'elle donna

All'inizio di un cambiamento, il patriota è un uomo cupo, impavido, odiato e diffamato. Ma quando la sua causa ha successo, il timido gli si unisce, perché a quel punto non costa più niente esser patrioti.

In that explosion all our noble civilization-factories went up in the air and disappeared from the earth. It was a pity, but it was necessary. We could not afford to let the enemy turn our own weapons against us.

I've come to believe errors, especially written errors, are often the only markers left by a solitary life: to sacrifice them is to lose the angles of personality, the riddle of a soul. In this case a very old soul. A very old riddle.

Not only had Navidson carried Karen out of that house, he had picked her up a hundred times over the course of eleven years and carried her fear, her torment, and her distance.

L'Amore è tutto! - Libertà , obietta poi quello brutto. - Amore e Libertà sono tutt'uno. - E Matrimonio? Là dove l'Amore, accettando la fine della Libertà, garantisce il Suo disfacimento.

You hide a Jew. You pay. Somehow or other, you must.

She looks at the swings, and I can see she's imagining what they'd look like if the kids weren't there. The guilt of this holds her down momentarily. It appears to be there constantly. Never far away, despite her love for them. I realize that nothing belongs to her anymore and she belongs to everything.

She was a Jew feeder without a question in the world on that man's first night in Molching. She was an arm reacher, deep into a mattress, to deliver a sketchbook to a teenage girl. (84.25)

Just give hime five more minutes and he would surely fall into the German gutter and die. They would all let him, and they would all watch. Then, one human. Hans Hubermann.

He was caught somewhere, in the current--of destroying everything he had, to become all he needed to be

a young man was hung by a rope made of Stalingrad snow

The Hubbermanns had two of their own (children), but they were older and had moved out...Soon they would be both in the war. One would be making bullets. The other would be shooting them.

The sky was murky and deep, like quicksand. There was a young man parcelled up in barbed wire, like a crown of thorns. I untangled him and carried him out. High above the earth, we sank together, to our knees. It was just another day, 1918.

We all have our duties here. We all suffer. We all endure our setbacks for the greater good of mankind.

Whenever they had a break, to eat or drink, he would play the accordion, and it was this that Liesel remembered best. Each morning, while Papa pushed or dragged the paint cart, Liesel carried the instrument. Better that we leave the paint behind, Hans told her, than ever forget the music.

Again, Himmel Street was a trail of people, and again, Papa left his accordion. Rosa reminded him to take it, but he refused. 'I didn't take it last time,' he explained, 'and we lived.' War clearly blurred the distinction between logic and superstition.

the moronic nature of fighting it--of killing yourself to survive.

Stealing is what the army does. Taking your father, and mine.

and it feels good to be good for something in the aftermath of the snows of Stalingrad

walk into the living room (which doubled as the Hubermanns' bedroom), pull the accordion

A few nights later, however, Hans Hubermann came home with a box of eggs. "Sorry, Mama." He placed them on the table. "They were all out of shoes.

You don't always get what you wish for. Especially in Nazi Germany.