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#sid

Read through the most famous quotes by topic #sid




And so it is to the printing press--to the recorder of man's deeds, the keeper of his conscience, the courier of his news--that we look for strength and assistance, confident that with your help man will be what he was born to be: free and independent. ↗


— John F. Kennedy


#newspaper #president #press #freedom

I am not interested in picking up crumbs of compassion thrown from the table of someone who considers himself my master. I want the full menu of rights. ↗


— Desmond Tutu


#compassion #considers #crumbs #full #himself

I want to question what the outside is and who defines it. I often find those that are considered to be on the outside extremely inspiring. ↗


— Mira Nair


#defines #extremely #find #i #inspiring

I grew up in a Hindu household but went to a Roman Catholic school. I grew up with a mother who said, 'I'll arrange a marriage for you at 18,' but she also said that we could achieve anything we put our minds to an encourage us to dream of becoming prime minister or president. ↗


— Indra Nooyi


#also #anything #arrange #becoming #catholic

Ah coffee. The sweet balm by which we shall accomplish today's tasks. ↗


— Holly Black


#funny #ironside #funny

I want to mail my mailman something. He always brings me mail, yet I never give him any mail. Maybe he will appreciate the thought, or maybe he will feel I am making more work for him. ↗


— Jarod Kintz


#considerate #funny #humor #jarod-kintz #mail

I hope something happens. I'm restless as the devil and have a horror of getting fat or falling in love and growing domestic. ↗


— F. Scott Fitzgerald


#love

They say to think within the box, but it's funny how those in the box never go anywhere, where those outside it, get to see the world. ↗


— Anthony Liccione


#horizon #limitations #outside-the-box #see-the-world #stuck

For a long while I have believed – this is perhaps my version of Sir Darius Xerxes Cama’s belief in a fourth function of outsideness – that in every generation there are a few souls, call them lucky or cursed, who are simply born not belonging, who come into the world semi-detached, if you like, without strong affiliation to family or location or nation or race; that there may even be millions, billions of such souls, as many non-belongers as belongers, perhaps; that, in sum, the phenomenon may be as “natural” a manifestation of human nature as its opposite, but one that has been mostly frustrated, throughout human history, by lack of opportunity. And not only by that: for those who value stability, who fear transience, uncertainly, change, have erected a powerful system of stigmas and taboos against rootlessness, that disruptive, anti-social force, so that we mostly conform, we pretend to be motivated by loyalties and solidarities we do not really feel, we hide our secret identities beneath the false skins of those identities which bear the belongers’ seal of approval. But the truth leaks out in our dreams; alone in our beds (because we are all alone at night, even if we do not sleep by ourselves), we soar, we fly, we flee. And in the waking dreams our societies permit, in our myths, our arts, our songs, we celebrate the non-belongers, the different ones, the outlaws, the freaks. What we forbid ourselves we pay good money to watch, in a playhouse or a movie theater, or to read about between the secret covers of a book. Our libraries, our palaces of entertainment tell the truth. The tramp, the assassin, the rebel, the thief, the mutant, the outcast, the delinquent, the devil, the sinner, the traveler, the gangster, the runner, the mask: if we did not recognize in them our least-fulfilled needs, we would not invent them over and over again, in every place, in every language, in every time. ↗


— Salman Rushdie


#outsider #art

Dim loneliness came imperceivably into the fields and he turned back. The birds piped oddly; some wind was caressing the higher foliage, turning it all one way, the way home. Telegraph poles ahead looked like half-used pencils; the small cross on the steeple glittered with a sharp and shapely permanence. ↗


— A.E. Coppard


#loneliness #home






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