Quotes About Strength

Anything may be betrayed, anyone may be forgiven. But not those who lack the courage of their own greatness.

Roark, floating like a piece of driftwood, held a power greater than that of the engine in the belly of the yacht. Wynand thought: Because that is the power from which the engine has come.

Her face looked as if she knew his worst suffering and it was hers and she wished to bear it like this, coldly, asking no words of mitigation.

It was a hymn with the force of a march, a march with the majesty of a hymn. It was a song of soldiers bearing sacred banners and of priests carrying swords. It was an anthem to the sanctity of strength.

She knew that she could not move until he permitted her to. She saw his mouth and the silent contempt in the shape of his mouth; the planes of his gaunt, hollow cheeks; the cold, pure brilliance of the eyes that had no trace of pity. She knew it was the most beautiful face she would ever see, because it was the abstraction of strength made visible.

No olvides que el estado natural del hombre es una postura erguida, una mente intransigente y un paso vivaz capaz de recorrer caminos ilimitados. No permitas que se extinga tu fuego, chispa a chispa, cada una de ellas irremplazable, en los pantanos sin esperanza de lo aproximado, lo casi, lo no aún, lo nunca jamás. No permitas que perezca el héroe que llevas en tu alma, en solitaria frustración por la vida que merecías pero que nunca pudiste alcanzar.

Yet there is nothing emotional or rebellious in her countenance; it is one of profound, inexorable calm; but one feels the tense vitality, the primitive fire, the untamed strength in the defiant immobility of her slender body, the proud line of her head held high, the sweep of her tousled hair. " Excerpt From: Ayn Rand. "Night of January 16th.

Her face was made of angular planes, the shape of her mouth clear-cut, a sensual mouth held closed with inflexible precision. She kept her hands in the coat pockets, her posture taut, as if she resented immobility...

Feeling quiet and empty, he told himself that he would be all right tomorrow. He would forgive himself the weakness of this night, it was like the tears one is permitted at a funeral, and then one learns how to live with an open wound or with a crippled factory.

I have yet to see a genius or a hero who, if stuck with a burning match, would feel less pain than his undistinguished average brother.

He felt safe in the oak tree's presence; it was a thing that nothing could change or threaten; it was his greatest symbol of strength.

She fought like an animal. But she made no sound. She did not call for help. She heard the echoes of her blows in a gasp of his breath, and she knew that it was a gasp of pleasure.

The status was of a young man with a tall, gaunt body and an angular face. He held his head as if he faced a challenge and found joy in his capacity to meet it. All that Dagny wanted of life was contained in the desire to hold her head as he did.

Dagny, how did you do it? How did you manage to remain unmangled?" "By holding to just one rule." "Which?" "To place nothing—nothing—above the verdict of my own mind." "You've taken some terrible beatings . . . maybe worse than I did . . . worse than any of us. . . . What held you through it?" "The knowledge that my life is the highest of values, too high to give up without a fight.

John, the self-made man, self-made in every sense, out of nowhere, penniless, parentless, tie-less...but I've always thought of him as if he had come into the world like Minerva, the goddess of wisdom, who sprang forth from Jupiter's head, fully grown and fully armed.

only a thin steel ring that cut the rocks in half. The rocks went on into the depth, unchanged. They began

A man who surrenders his value is at mercy of anyone's will.

didn't you enjoy meeting the young men?" "What men? There wasn't a man there I couldn't squash ten of.

Si viese usted a Atlas, el gigante que sostiene al mundo sobre sus hombros, si usted viese que él estuviese de pie, con la sangre latiendo en su pecho, con sus rodillas doblándose, con sus brazos temblando, pero todavía intentando mantener al mundo en lo alto con sus últimas fuerzas, y cuanto mayor sea su esfuerzo, mayor es el peso que el mundo carga sobre sus hombros, ¿qué le diría usted que hiciese? [...] Que se rebele.

if you saw Atlas, the giant who holds the world on his shoulders, if you saw that he stood, blood running down his chest, his knees buckling, his arms trembling but still trying to hold the world aloft with the last of his strength, and the greater his effort the heavier the world bore down on his shoulders—what would you tell him to do?" "I . . . don't know. What . . . could he do? What would you tell him?" "To shrug.

For the battle they lost can never be lost. For that which they died to save can never perish. Through all the darkness, through all the shame of which men are capable, the spirit of man will remain alive on this earth. It may sleep, but it will awaken. It may wear chains, but it will break through. And man will go on. Man, not men.

centuries of chains and lashes will not kill the spirit of man nor the sense of truth within him.

they have nothing to fight me with, save the brute force of their numbers. I have my mind.

Good God, Dagny! Do you expect me to be afraid of an object like James?