“What broke when he could bring himself to thrust down the knife into the warm flesh, to bring down the axe on the living head, to cleave down between the seeing eyes, to shoot the gun that would drive death into the beating heart?”

But when the dawn will come, of our emancipation, from the fear of bondage and the bondage of fear, why, that is a secret.

There is a lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the hills.

There are voices crying what must be done, a hundred, a thousand voices.

For mines are for men, not for money. And money is not something to go mad about, and throw your hat into the air for.

Now God be thanked that the name of a hill is such music, that the name of a river can heal.

To give up the task of reforming society is to give up one’s responsibility as a free man.

Ask yourself not if this or that is expedient, but if it is right.

But the one thing that has power completely is love, because when a man loves, he seeks no power, and therefore he has power.

I am a weak and sinful man, but God put His hands on me, that is all.

The tragedy is not that things are broken.

When men are ruled by fear, they strive to prevent the very changes that will abate it.

But I have learned that kindness and love can pay for pain and suffering.

Who knows for what we live, and struggle, and die?…

Cry for the broken tribe, for the law and the custom that is gone. Aye, and cry aloud for the man who is dead, for the woman and children bereaved.

We do not work for men. We work for the land and the people. We do not even work for money.

Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply… For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.

A boxer makes a comeback for two reasons: either he’s broke or he needs the money.

Not by way of the forced and worn formula of Romaticism, but throught the closeness of an imagination that has never broken kinship with nature. Art must accept such gifts, and revaluate the giver.

The window doesn’t open, the fan is broke, and my face is turning blue. I haven’t been in a crowd like this since I went to see the Who.

They didn’t have to be a hoodlum, they didn’t have to be a gangster. They could stand up from a broken home, on welfare, and they could run for president of the United States.

I was age six or seven, and singing, “Jesus wants me for her son, beep, to shine for him,” and people smiled and pinched my cheeks till the blood vessels broke, and I knew I was doing something right.

I broke down all conclusions into illusions and confusions.

There will come a day when you will be stronger and you will forget that person that just broke your heart.

Without them, you will go broke.