#fist

And the woman who could win the respect of man was often the woman who could knock him down with her bare fists and sit on him until he yelled for help. ↗

— Agnes Smedley

#could #down #fists #help #her

No man can think clearly when his fists are clenched. ↗

— George Jean Nathan

#clearly #clenched #fists #his #man

The pacifist is as surely a traitor to his country and to humanity as is the most brutal wrongdoer. ↗

— Theodore Roosevelt

#country #his #humanity #most #pacifist

Somebody has to wear the black hat and give the audience someone to shake their fists at. They want someone to hate. And if that's what you want to pay me to do, I'm happy to do it! ↗

— Jane Elliot

#black #black hat #fists #give #happy

The right to swing my fist ends where the other man's nose begins. ↗

— Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.

#ends #fist #man #nose #other

I’ve learned that courage and compassion are two sides of the same coin, and that every warrior, every humanitarian, every citizen is built to live with both. “In fact, to win a war, to create peace, to save a life, or just to live a good life requires of us — of every one of us — that we be both good and strong. ↗

— Eric Greitens

#courage

I come from a family of pacifists, so it's not like I was going to join the war. Sweden is not like the States or England where you might get sent to Afghanistan next month. ↗

— Bill Skarsgard

#come #england #family #get #going

Convince and enemy, convince him that he's wrong, is to win a bloodless battle where victory is long. A simple act of faith, is reason over might, To blow up his children would only prove him right. ↗

— Gordon "Sting" Sumner

#diplomacy #logical-thinking #pacifist #faith

Pacifists are like sheep who believe that wolves are vegetarians. ↗

— Yves Montand

#like #pacifists #sheep #vegetarians #who

Making a Fist For the first time, on the road north of Tampico, I felt the life sliding out of me, a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear. I was seven, I lay in the car watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass. My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin. "How do you know if you are going to die?" I begged my mother. We had been traveling for days. With strange confidence she answered, "When you can no longer make a fist." Years later I smile to think of that journey, the borders we must cross separately, stamped with our unanswerable woes. I who did not die, who am still living, still lying in the backseat behind all my questions, clenching and opening one small hand. ↗

— Naomi Shihab Nye

#life