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Patriotism Quotes

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Patriotism Quotes

“Guns Are Viagra (Sonnet 1262) Indifference does more damage than inhumanity, For animals can't be expected to be human. Humans are human when they are accountable, Passive spectators are worse than inhuman. Silence of the peacelovers is more damaging than violence of the warmongers. Till the very thought of guns makes you sick, you are only playing make believe peacekeepers. Guns are just viagra for the impotent, Bullets are but crutches for centipedes. When there's no substance in mind and spine, Monkeys tend to cower behind semiautomatics. More backward a country, more its fascination with guns and bombs. That's why you cannot imagine a hero, without a gun in their hands. Real heroes don't carry guns, Real heroes don't wear capes. Wearing a smile, carrying a spine, Real heroes work to rescue peace, from the clutches of states.”

“The American eagle is not aware he is the American eagle. He is never tempted to look modest. When orators advertise the American eagle's virtues, the American eagle is not listening. This is his virtue. He is somewhere else, he is mountains away but even if he were near he would never make an audience. The American eagle never says he will serve if drafted, will dutifully serve etc. He is not at our service. If we have honored him we have honored one who unequivocally honors himself by overlooking us. He does not know the meaning of magnificent. Perhaps we do not altogether either who cannot touch him.”

“A human, caught under the oppression of a foreign nation in his/her own country, can be willingly to risk his/her life in order to achieve freedom. To call this act a self-sacrifice, one would have to presume that the person didn’t mind living as a slave of the British. The selfishness of a person who is willing to die, if necessary, fighting for his/her freedom, lies in the fact that he/she is unwilling to go on living in a world where he/she is no longer able to act on his/her own rules and regulations, that is, a world where rudimentary human conditions of existence are no longer possible.”

“She wanted to tell him so much, on the tarmac, the day he left. The world is run by brutal men and the surest proof is their armies. If they ask you to stand still, you should dance. If they ask you to burn the flag, wave it. If they ask you to murder, re-create. Theorem, anti-theorem, corollary, anti-corollary. Underline it twice. It’s all there in the numbers. Listen to your mother. Listen to me, Joshua. Look me in the eyes. I have something to tell you.”

“She became fascinated by the statue of Edith Cavell and would stand at the base of it in the freezing cold of a December morning, looking up: - Patriotism is not enough. I must have no hatred or bitterness for anyone-. Sometimes those words made her cry. The tears would come uncontrollably and they would not stop. And in those moments Anna found forgiveness and it made her free. But they were only moments. Forgiveness is a hard thing to hang on to.”

“Patriotism is the narcissism of countries.”

“When national ideals are confined to insignificant issues reflective primarily of a personal choice, there lies a problem of distorted priorities.”

“One of the things we haven’t taught our people as a nation, that this is their country. We haven’t told them that this Bahamas belongs to them. Whether it succeeds or fails it is entirely up to them. WE haven’t told our people that they are valuable. I sometimes pass little boys playing in the road and I would stop my car and say to them: ‘Excuse me baby, do you realize how valuable you are? Do not play in the road, if anything happen to you that is going to hurt us. Because you might be our Prime Minister one day. Iris Adderley, consultant in the Disability Affairs Devision of The Department of Social Services.”

“Patriotism is a thing difficult to put into words. It is neither precisely an emotion nor an opinion, nor a mandate, but a state of mind -- a reflection of our own personal sense of worth, and respect for our roots. Love of country plays a part, but it's not merely love. Neither is it pride, although pride too is one of the ingredients. Patriotism is a commitment to what is best inside us all. And it's a recognition of that wondrous common essence in our greater surroundings -- our school, team, city, state, our immediate society -- often ultimately delineated by our ethnic roots and borders... but not always. Indeed, these border lines are so fluid... And we do not pay allegiance as much as we resonate with a shared spirit. We all feel an undeniable bond with the land where we were born. And yet, if we leave it for another, we grow to feel a similar bond, often of a more complex nature. Both are forms of patriotism -- the first, involuntary, by birth, the second by choice. Neither is less worthy than the other. But one is earned.”

“How I still want to sing despite all the truth of our wars and our gunshots ringing louder than our school bells, our politicians smiling lies at the mic, the deadlock of our divided voices shouting over each other instead of singing together. How I want to sing again-- beautiful or not, just to be harmony--from sea to shining sea--with the only country I know enough to know how to sing for.”

“Now, your Honor, I have spoken about the war. I believed in it. I don’t know whether I was crazy or not. Sometimes I think perhaps I was. I approved of it; I joined in the general cry of madness and despair. I urged men to fight. I was safe because I was too old to go. I was like the rest. What did they do? Right or wrong, justifiable or unjustifiable -- which I need not discuss today -- it changed the world. For four long years the civilized world was engaged in killing men. Christian against Christian, barbarian uniting with Christians to kill Christians; anything to kill. It was taught in every school, aye in the Sunday schools. The little children played at war. The toddling children on the street. Do you suppose this world has ever been the same since? How long, your Honor, will it take for the world to get back the humane emotions that were slowly growing before the war? How long will it take the calloused hearts of men before the scars of hatred and cruelty shall be removed? We read of killing one hundred thousand men in a day. We read about it and we rejoiced in it -- if it was the other fellows who were killed. We were fed on flesh and drank blood. Even down to the prattling babe. I need not tell you how many upright, honorable young boys have come into this court charged with murder, some saved and some sent to their death, boys who fought in this war and learned to place a cheap value on human life. You know it and I know it. These boys were brought up in it. The tales of death were in their homes, their playgrounds, their schools; they were in the newspapers that they read; it was a part of the common frenzy -- what was a life? It was nothing. It was the least sacred thing in existence and these boys were trained to this cruelty.”

“He used to be like a Snake Oil Salesman in the wild west hawking his wares in the town square as if at the carny. Branded tower condos. Steaks. Deodorant. Water. Vodka. Ostensible educations--those were pure scam. Sneakers. Playing cards. NFTs. Bibles. Swatches of his found-guilty suit. A Used Car salesman selling cars designed to run just long enough off the lot to get him the bucks and the battle win and plow down everyone around him. But now he's desperate, losing even his ability to coerce and con, which is the only ability he ever had.”

“He's already been president. We know his policies, his jurist picks, and all his methodologies. We know who he cozies up to and who he leaves out in the cold and diseased air... He's become a Used Trump Salesman. And all his marketers, campaign officials, and media strategists are Used Trump Salesmen with a desperate, deteriorating Used Trump they're equally as desperate to sell.”

“Patriotism Breathes there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, 'This is my own, my native land!' Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd As home his footsteps he hath turn'd From wandering on a foreign strand? If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.”

“Every November of my boyhood, we put on red poppies and attended highly patriotic services in remembrance of those who had 'given' their lives. But on what assurance did we know that these gifts had really been made? Only the survivors—the living—could attest to it. In order to know that a person had truly laid down his life for his friends, or comrades, one would have to hear it from his own lips, or at least have heard it promised in advance. And that presented another difficulty. Many brave and now dead soldiers had nonetheless been conscripts. The known martyrs—those who actually, voluntarily sought death and rejoiced in the fact—had been the kamikaze pilots, immolating themselves to propitiate a 'divine' emperor who looked (as Orwell once phrased it) like a monkey on a stick. Their Christian predecessors had endured torture and death (as well as inflicted it) in order to set up a theocracy. Their modern equivalents would be the suicide murderers, who mostly have the same aim in mind. About people who set out to lose their lives, then, there seems to hang an air of fanaticism: a gigantic sense of self-importance unattractively fused with a masochistic tendency to self-abnegation. Not wholesome. The better and more realistic test would therefore seem to be: In what cause, or on what principle, would you risk your life?”

“A voice had become audible, a note had been struck, more true, more thrilling, more able to do justice to the nobility of our youth in arms engaged in this present war, than any other—more able to express their thoughts of self-surrender, and with a power to carry comfort to those who watched them so intently from afar. The voice has been swiftly stilled. Only the echoes and the memory remain; but they will linger. He expected to die; he was willing to die for the dear England whose beauty and majesty he knew; and he advanced towards the brink in perfect serenity, with absolute conviction of the rightness of his country's cause, and a heart devoid of hate for fellow-men. ...he was all that one would wish England's noblest sons to be in days when no sacrifice but the most precious is acceptable, and the most precious is that which is most freely proffered.”

“Take My Life (The Sonnet) Take my life if you want, But nothing can take my sight away. Take my breath if you want, But nothing can take my might away. Take my feet if you want, But nothing can take my journey away. Take my arms if you want, But nothing can take my touch away. Take my tongue if you want, But nothing can take my voice away. Take my bones if you want, But nothing can take my will away. You can erase me from earth if you so desire, But you can't stop my ideas from spreading like wildfire.”

“The Maker (Sonnet) Step by step we'll reach the mountaintop, We'll build roads penetrating impediments. Bit by bit we'll trash our conformities, We’ll erect civilization upon reason and sentiments. Day and night we'll stand tall in service, Through storm, rain, heat and gloom. There's no time for selfishness, Being selfish would bring universal doom. Sanity is in giving and caring, It’s in every act of collective concern. Because if you care only for the self, Deserting your children your neighbors will run. The world is our home and we must be its caretaker. Comfort is luxury, it’s time we rise as the maker.”

“«Жизнь прожила хорошую, за все спасибо. А теперь вот до войны дошли. Танки на границе. Придут ли? Выстрелить, батюшка, в них не смогу. Так выстрелить, чтобы убить и дальше жить, ― не смогу. Потому что вроде свои же, русские. Но и землю им отдать тоже нельзя. Подорвусь если с какой гранатой на поясе, чтобы и танк, и я, и не видеть после ничего… Грех ли это?» Отец Петр вздыхает, осеняя себя и Марию крестным знамением. Говорит: «Бог управит. Управит. На Него уповаем». Март 2014.”

“Rare are the handful of principles that incessantly drive us to stand even when we face the stark realization that we will likely perish in the standing. And rarer still is the person who will surrender all to protect such principles. Yet, the rudimentary principles of freedom and liberty pristinely untarnished by greed and selfishness took captive the hearts of simple people and raised this nation up from untamed wilderness and unchecked tyranny. And let us all be warned that without renewed adherence to these principles, we will rapidly return this nation to untamed wilderness and unchecked tyranny.”

“May the ears of Canada never grow deaf to the plea of widows and orphans and our crippled men for care and support. May the eyes of Canada never be blind to that glorious light which shines upon our young national life from the deeds of those "who counted not their lives dear unto themselves," and may the lips of Canada never be dumb to tell to future generations the tales of heroism which will kindle the imagination and fire the patriotism of children that are yet unborn.”