Comtemplate the mangled bodies of your countrymen and then ask yourself, What should be the reward of such sacrifices... If ye love wealth better than freedom, the tranquility of servitude than the animating contest of freedom, go from us in peace. We ask not your counsels or arms. Crouch down and lick the hands that feed you. May your chains sit lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that ye were our countrymen.
I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches. If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness and the willingness to remain vulnerable.
I have rubbed, knocked and brushed up against a thousand windows, trying to get an image.""A writer is nothing without a reader; a reader is nothing without a writer." "Ask not the grass to give you green, and later walk all over it.”“Thoughts are like an open ocean, they can either move you forward within its waves, or sink you under deep into its abyss.” Anger can kill, even a feather gently blowing in the wind.” "The mirror will only lie, when you look at it through a mask."If you put a clock in a bottle, with time it will crack, as like money, as like love, as like a beautiful mind, with no soul." “If eyes are windows to the soul, then tears are heavens rain.”"It's not how many friends you can count, it's how many of those you can count on.”
Spread love everywhere you go First of all in your own house...let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier. Be the living expression of God's kindness kindness in your face, kindness in your eyes, kindness in your smile.
To be, or not to be that is the question Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them To die to sleep No more and by a sleep to say we end The heartache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to,--'t is a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep To sleep perchance to dream ay, there's the rub For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of Thus conscience does make cowards of us all And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action.