Anarchy Love Quotes

It is our suffering that brings us together. It is not love. Love does not obey the mind, and turns to hate when forced. The bond that binds us is beyond choice. We are brothers. We are brothers in what we share. In pain, which each of us must suffer alone, in hunger, in poverty, in hope, we know our brotherhood. We know it, because we have had to learn it. We know that there is no help for us but from one another, that no hand will save us if we do not reach out our hand. And the hand that you reach out is empty, as mine is. You have nothing. You possess nothing. You own nothing. You are free. All you have is what you are, and what you give.

It is absurd to expect the inclinations and wishes of two human beings to coincide, through any long period of time. To oblige them to act and live together is to subject them to some inevitable potion of thwarting, bickering, and unhappiness.

Anarchy loves theatre. That's the whole point. People forget that. You have to laugh at the devil, not fight him. They'll always have more guns, they'll always have more bombs that go off with a bigger bang. No matter how revolting you become they'll always be willing to be more revolting to you. They've had so much more practice.

Love’s anarchy. There are no rules, no rhyme or reason. You can’t control it. You can fight to keep it and lose. Or fight to keep it away and lose. Or win, depending. Love’s chaos. It’s mayhem.

Compassion without discipline is egregious self-sabotage.

Because I care about human beings, I want them to be free to do what is right for them. Isn't that more important than mere peace on earth? Isn't freedom, even dangerous freedom, preferable to the safest slavery, to peace bought with ignorance, cowardice, and submission?

Using coercion to drive charity is like using kidnapping to create love.

Mitchell Sanders was right. For the common soldier, at least, war has the feel-the spiritual texture-of a great ghostly fog, thick and permanent. There is no clarity. Everything swirls. The old rules are no longer binding, the old truths no longer true. Right spills over into wrong. Order blends into chaos, love into hate, ugliness into beauty, law into anarchy, civility into savagery. The vapors suck you in. You can't tell where you are, or why you're there, and the only certainty is overwhelming ambiguity.

The greatest of all historical shams is believing you can not do something you can.

Letters and science will only take their proper place in the work of human development when, freed from all mercenary bondage, they will be exclusively cultivated by those who love them, and for those who love them.

Whether love last but one brief span of time or for eternity, it is the only creative, inspiring, elevating basis for a new race, a new world.

Tangled with love in the moonlight she welcomed the anarchy of her lover.

Love loves anarchy. It loves to wreak havoc. It loves to dance atop the ruins.

Venus to Tig: "I'm afraid, Alexander, that I may have fallen in love with you." Tig doesn't know what to say, so Venus says it for him: "I'm a man. I am a man who knows she's a woman. And that's exactly where I'm supposed to be. It's the criss-cross that I've come to love. I don't want the surgery. I don't want to undo what God has given me. I know how beautiful I am.

When you accept a person for who they are, you don’t choose bits and pieces. You accept every part of them, right down to the rotten bits. Because everybody wants somebody to love their rottenness.

Cherubs are so creepy, don’t you think? Like, why are naked babies shooting poisonous arrows at innocent people a symbol of love? Why aren’t they a symbol of toddler anarchy instead?” “Roux,” I started to say, but then I paused, thinking about her comment. “That is an excellent point,” I admitted. “I blame Hallmark,” she said. “Damn them and their anarchist baby uprising.

- Do you wanna be with me or not? - I just don't know if I will be able to give you everything you need right now. - And what is it you think I need? Love? Only men need to be loved, sweetheart. Women need to be wanted.

... a necklace of pearls on a white neck. We had lost the sense of discovery which had infused the anarchy of our first year. I began to settle down. ... the old house in the foreground, the rest of the world abandoned and forgotten; a world of its own of peace and love and beauty...

Only a fool would be patient enough to stay in a totalitarian love affair, and only the insincere will use anarchy to commit the sin of unfaithfulness.

To God, without whom I would be but flesh without blood…lungs without breath…a body without life.

Dear God, please let this very hot ass badassfinally take advantage of me.Love, Charlie

If I love freedom above all else, then any commitment becomes a metaphor, a symbol. This touches on the difference between the forest fleer and the partisan:this distinction is not qualitative but essential in nature. The anarch is closer to Being. The partisan moves within the social or national party structure, the anarch is outside of it. Of course, the anarch cannot elude the party structure, since he lives in society.

Its ghetto paradise for some and hell on earth for others!

An anarchist government somehow creates an impression in the hearts of citizens that no one cares.

No, you dense bitch. I love you.

I said, no. No, I will not sit down. Not about this. I'm not goddamn overstepping, Dare, because I fucking love you. Okay? I love you.

If you take things the wrong way, be aware of which end is up

I squeezed the walkie-talkie button. “Ryder?” “Yes?” He sounded worried. “I love you.” Because I hadn’t officially said it yet and there was a ninety percent chance this ended with me as pudding. His voice came back strong: “I love you too, you know that. Do. Not. Die. That’s an official order.” Hah! Bossy ash..

It was sort of like being in one of those love-and-horror supernatural novels, the kind Mrs. Robinson in the school library sniffily called “tweenager porn.” In those books the girls dallied with werewolves, vampires—even zombies—but hardly ever became those things. It was also nice to have a grown man stand up for her, and it didn’t hurt that he was handsome, in a scruffy kind of way that reminded her a little of Jax Teller on Sons of Anarchy, a show she and Emma Deane secretly watched on Em’s computer.

Half measures. My God. I love you so much that I’m drowning in it. I can’t defend against it. I don’t know who I am anymore. All I know is that if I give in to it entirely—” He tried to control the anarchy of his breath. “You mean too much to me,” he said raggedly.

Do I write out of love for human beings? No, I write because I want to give my thoughts an existence in this world; and even if I thought that these thoughts would take away your rest and peace, even if I saw the bloodiest wars and the destruction of many generations sprouting from this seed of thought: — still I would scatter it

An Odonian undertook monogamy just as he might undertake a joint enterprise in production, a ballet or a soap-works. Partnership was a voluntarily constituted federation like any other. So long as it worked, it worked, and if it didn't work it stopped being. It was not an institution but a function. It had no sanction but that of private conscience.

I am Anarchy. I am Power. I am Love. I am Siennarchist.

Together, they at once dodged those parts of themselves and magnified them, making for enigmatic harmony and anarchy.

The story of the progress of human morals is almost entirely populated by people who did not live to see the world that they loved in their minds.

I still find my country doomed. Anarchy, Racism and Tribalism has impaired my country's ability of harvesting peace and unity, hence solitude has been the fruit of inner-peace.

I didn't drink they Kool-Aid of patriotism, nor did I drink the moonshine of anarchy.

I found her in the living room watching re-runs of Sons of Anarchy. I think she had a thing for Charlie Hunnam.

True freedom isn’t limited by partiality or favoritism for one over the other. It’s freedom for all or it isn’t freedom at all.

Marriage and love have nothing in common; they are as far apart as the poles; are, in fact, antagonistic to each other.

all's fair in love and anarchy

They hated children as they hated themselves; they beat them for their own good, and educated them from the perspective of their own incapacity to love life.

I love you, sis. Kill for you, live for you, die for you,

our personal anarchy is composed of deep pain and intense joys

You are one of the best men I know, Kyan Roscoe,” Saint growled. “Nothing would ever lower my opinion of you.” “I love you, man,” Blake added. “And I’m sorry you had to deal with this alone for so long.

Sonnet to Liberty" NOT that I love thy children, whose dull eyes See nothing save their own unlovely woe, Whose minds know nothing, nothing care to know,— But that the roar of thy Democracies, Thy reigns of Terror, thy great Anarchies, 5 Mirror my wildest passions like the sea,— And give my rage a brother——! Liberty! For this sake only do thy dissonant cries Delight my discreet soul, else might all kings By bloody knout or treacherous cannonades 10 Rob nations of their rights inviolate And I remain unmoved—and yet, and yet, These Christs that die upon the barricades, God knows it I am with them, in some things.

Knowledge is older than ignorance. Understanding is older than intolerance. Intuition is older than intelligence. Innocence is older than guilt. Clarity is older than compassion. Order is older than anarchy. Calmness is older than turmoil. Peace is older than war. Life is older than death. Existence is older than oblivion. Reality is older than life. Eternity is older than time. Thought is older than desire. Motive is older than feat. Action is older than experience. Faith is older than religion. Truth is older than uncertainty. Love is older than passion. Joy is older than pleasure. Need is older than want. Reason is older than emotion. The soul is older than the heart. The heart is older than the mind. The mind is older than the body. The universe is older than the sky. The sky is older than the stars. The stars are older than the world.

In the aftermath of traumatic events, survivors doubt both others and themselves. Things are no longer what they seem. The combat veteran Tim O'Brien describes this pervasive sense of doubt: '... There is no clarity. Everything swirls. The old rules are no longer binding, the old truths no longer true. Right spills over into wrong. Order blends into chaos, love into hate, ugliness into beauty, law into anarchy, civility into savagery.' ...

You have me all to yourself, germinator. What do you want to do?” I whispered, only wincing a little at the pain in my throat. Kane locked his eyes on mine and with a smirk, he said, “When you come back here I want to turn on my laptop and watch season three of the Sons of Anarchy with you.” Fuck. How’d I get so lucky? “I love it when you talk dirty to me.” Kane laughed, “Then shut up and listen to me talk. Rest your voice - your throat won’t heal otherwise.” “One more thing then I’ll stop.” “What is it?” “I love you,” I whispered. Kane’s face softened. “I love you too, Aideen. You’re my whole world, babydoll, but if you say one more word, I’ll put tape over your mouth.” “Me and you?” He nodded. “Me and you.

Where truth rises ignorance falls. Where certainty rises speculation falls. Where pleasure rises pain falls. Where joy rises grief falls. Where love rises fear falls. Where modesty rises ego falls. Where tolerance rises injustice falls. Where mercy rises vengance falls. Where integrity rises distrust falls. Where justice rises crime falls. Where equality rises abuse falls. Where freedom rises slavery falls. Where wealth rises poverty falls. Where knowledge rises illiteracy falls. Where wisdom rises dullness falls. Where harmoney rises anarchy falls. Where peace rises turmoil falls. Where order rises chaos falls. Where faith rises doubt falls. Where light rises darkness falls. Where good rises evil falls. Where strength rises weakness falls.

I am that man, the sum of him, the all of him, the hairless biped who struggled upward from the slime and created love and law out of the anarchy of fecund life that screamed and squalled in the jungle. I am all that that man was and did become. I see myself, through the painful generations, snaring and killing the game and the fish, clearing the first fields from the forest, making rude tools of stone and bone, building houses of wood, thatching the roofs with leaves and straw, domesticating the wild grasses and meadow roots, fathering them to become the progenitors of rice and millet and wheat and barley and all manner of succulent edibles, learning to scratch the soil, to sow, to reap, to store, beating out the fibers of plants to spin into thread and to weave into cloth, devising systems of irrigation, working in metals, making markets and trade routes, building boats, and founding navigation—ay, and organizing village life, welding villages to villages till they became tribes, welding tribes together till they became nations, ever seeking the laws of things, ever making the laws of humans so that humans might live together in amity and by united effort beat down and destroy all manner of creeping, crawling, squalling things that might else destroy them.

I don't believe, for instance, that evolutionary biology or any scientific endeavor has much to say about love. I'm sure a lot can be learned about the importance of hormones and their effects on our feelings. But do the bleak implications of evolution have any impact on the love I feel for my family? Do they make me more likely to break the law of flaunt society's expectations of me? No. I simply does not follow that human relationships are meaningless just because we live in a godless universe subject to the natural laws of biology.

One of the newer terms in the poly lexicon, relationship anarchy, refers to a lifestyle decision not to take one partner as a “primary” and others as “secondaries” (or any hierarchy of that kind) but instead to maintain each relationship as separate and to make as few rules as possible.

Universal meaninglessness gives way to ecstatic inebriation, an orgy of irrationality. Since the world has no meaning, let us live! Without definite aims or accessible ideals, let us throw ourselves into the roaring whirlwind of infinity, follow its tortuous path in space, burn in its flames, love its cosmic madness and total anarchy! To live infinity, as well as to meditate a long time upon it, is the most terrifying lesson in anarchy and revolt one can ever learn. Infinity shakes you to the roots of your being, disorganizes you, but it also makes you forget the petty, the contingent, and the insignificant.

All of anarchism, libertarianism, and anti-Statism can be traced back to the rise of Protestantism. The USA - founded by Protestants (often extremist Protestants expelled from their own countries) is where the love of the individual and hatred of the collective is practically written into its Constitution, which is extremely Protestant in its character.

Doubtless there are people who continue to consider love above dollars and cents. Particularly is this true or that class whom economic necessity has forced to become self-supporting. The tremendous change in woman's position, wrought by that might factor, is indeed phenomenal when we reflect that it is but a short time since she has entered the industrial arena. Six million women wage workers; six million women, who have equal rights with men to be exploited, to be robbed, to go on strike; aye, to starve even. Anything more, my lord? Yes, six million wage workers in every walk of life, from the highest brain work to the mines and railroad tracks; yes, even detectives and policemen. Surely the emancipation is complete.

I look at Max beside me, swimming in his anarchy trench coat. I stare at his face. The knives and the wolf have fallen away like so much costume makeup. His features no longer shift, no longer recall transcendent moments or former lovers. His face is simply my face. Undisguised at last. Familiar as mud. Punched in with grief. Rage. Suddenly, I want to kill him. This thing I made out of hate and love and air and one fucking animal.

[On the eve of the French Revolution:] It is impossible to imagine a more disorderly Assembly. They neither reason, examine, nor discuss. They clap those whom they approve and hiss those whom they disapprove. . . . Everything almost is elective, and consequently no one obeys. It is an anarchy beyond conception, and they will be obliged to take back their chains for some time to come at least. And so much for that licentious spirit which they dignify with the name of "Love of Liberty." Their Literati, whose heads are turned by romantic notions picked up in books, and who are too lofty to look down upon that kind of man which really exists, and too wise to heed the dictates of common-sense and experience, have turned the heads of their countrymen, and they have run-a-muck at a Don Quixote constitution such as you are blessed with in Pennsylvania. I need say no more. You will judge of the effects of such a constitution upon people supremely depraved.

What I can claim is that no other work of mine depicts virtue with greater prominence: here the slightest misdemeanour is severely punished; the mere thought of wrongdoing is viewed with as much horror as the enactment of it; lapses that derive from love are treated as absolute failings; the passions are represented only to demonstrate the destructive anarchy to which they give rise; and vice is everywhere portrayed in colours which cause its ugliness to be known for what it is and abhorred.

My descent into delinquency was aided and abetted by the progressive philosophy adopted by the school. No effort was made to impose discipline, which resulted in the triumph of anarchy in the classroom and the survival of the fittest in the playground. In the former, the disruptive elements made it difficult, if not impossible, for teachers to teach and for students to learn. In the latter, the school bully and his coterie of friends ruled the roost, making life miserable for everyone else and making playtime a time of fear. I

Albeit nurtured in democracy, And liking best that state republican Where every man is Kinglike and no man Is crowned above his fellows, yet I see, Spite of this modern fret for Liberty, Better the rule of One, whom all obey, Than to let clamorous demagogues betray Our freedom with the kiss of anarchy. Wherefore I love them not whose hands profane Plant the red flag upon the piled-up street For no right cause, beneath whose ignorant reign Arts, Culture, Reverence, Honor, all things fade, Save Treason and the dagger of her trade, Or Murder with his silent bloody fee.

I never met anybody who didn't like Rumours It got played a lot around my house in the year of 'Anarchy in the U.K.' and 'White Riot,' and I think the reason why so many people who got airsick of being in the same room with Eagle records might find songs like 'Dreams' bringing them to tears was that Fleetwood Mac transcended FM Hollywood, not only by playing and singing with open-eyed passion but by articulating the painful questions of love (and the real answers that hurt). 'Thunder only happens when it's raining/Players only love you when they're playing' may have been obvious, but that was its very purity: you had been there, and could remember all too well when you first learned you can't change anybody.

Speaking of the happy new year, I wonder if any year ever had less chance of being happy. It’s as though the whole race were indulging in a kind of species introversion — as though we looked inward on our neuroses. And the thing we see isn’t very pretty. Before the year is over, I think I will be looking back longingly on the Gulf of Lower California — that sea of mirages and timelessness. It is a very magical place. It is cold and clear here now - the leaves all fallen from the trees and only the frogs are very happy. Great cheering sections of frogs singing all the time. The earth is moist and water is seeping out of the ground everywhere. So we go into this happy new year, knowing that our species has learned nothing, can, as a race, learn nothing — that the experience of ten thousand years has made no impression on the instincts of the million years that preceded. Maybe you can find some vague theology that will give you hope. Not that I have lost any hope. All the goodness and the heroisms will rise up again, then be cut down again and rise up. It isn’t that the evil thing wins — it never will — but that it doesn’t die. I don’t know why we should expect it to. It seems fairly obvious that two sides of a mirror are required before one has a mirror, that two forces are necessary in man before he is man. I asked Paul de Kruif once if he would like to cure all disease and he said yes. Then I suggested that the man he loved and wanted to cure was a product of all his filth and disease and meanness, his hunger and cruelty. Cure those and you would have not man but an entirely new species you wouldn’t recognize and probably wouldn’t like. There it is — It is interesting to watch the German efficiency, which, from the logic of the machine is efficient but which (I suspect) from the mechanics of the human species is suicidal. Certainly man thrives best (or has at least) in a state of semi-anarchy. Then he has been strong, inventive, reliant, moving. But cage him with rules, feed him and make him healthy and I think he will die as surely as a caged wolf dies. I should not be surprised to see a cared for, thought for, planned for nation disintegrate, while a ragged, hungry, lustful nation survived. Surely no great all-encompassing plan has ever succeeded. And so I'll look to see this German plan collapse because they do not know enough to plan for everything.

I’ve always been a person who has believed in the love and in the power of love. It occurred to me that it is an essence which connects to the hearts of people, to the hearts of the beasts and to the One-Above-All.…… .…………. Sometimes, if people are dysfunctional together, they will have dysfunctional families and kids who are dysfunctional to the society, each in a unique disorderly way. Love, is the key to disorder and anarchy as it emanates from truth and then further emanates commitment, care, respect and sacrifice. It has the powers over emotions of a human and their mindset and it has been bringing changes to the lives of people. The problem of dysfunctional relationships is the connection is based upon truths which are not mutually established. To make a relationship functional is very much possible and is as essential to being human as the fact that we are very intelligent beings. A love based on truth will always shine brighter in any dark night. But who wants a love like that? And who dares to love as such? All that forever? Would you dare?.…………. ……. All that and many things more but not anymore. I now believe that only love cannot make anyone do everything. Neither everything is dearly loved nor it is reciprocated gracefully. Some loves fall away as the leaves of the autumn; some fires are washed by little waters; and some boats never make it to the shore. If love is truly your goal and the goal of your love is love itself then the pillars of love shall always remain true. Be good to the people you meet. And be good to those who hurt you as well. Someday, sometime, it will make sense to everyone.

Because we don't know, do we? Everyone knows . . . How what happens the way it does? What underlies the anarchy of the train of events, the uncertainties, the mishaps, the disunity, the shocking irregularities that define human affairs? Nobody knows, Professor Roux. "Everyone knows" is the invocation of the cliche and the beginning of the banalization of experience, and it's the solemnity and the sense of authority that people have in voicing the cliché that's so insufferable. What we know is that, in an unclichéd way, nobody knows anything. You can't know anything. The things you know you don't know. Intention? Motive? Consequence? Meaning? All that we don't know is astonishing. Even more astonishing is what passes for knowing. As the audience filed back in, I began, cartoonishly, to envisage the fatal malady that, without anyone's recognizing it, was working away inside us, within each and every one of us: to visualize the blood vessels occluding under the baseball caps, the malignancies growing beneath the permed white hair, the organs misfiring, atrophying, shutting down, the hundreds of billions of murderous cells surreptitiously marching this entire audience toward the improbable disaster ahead. I couldn't stop myself. The stupendous decimation that is death sweeping us all away. Orchestra, audience, conductor, technicians, swallows, wrens—think of the numbers for Tanglewood alone just between now and the year 4000. Then multiply that times everything. The ceaseless perishing. What an idea! What maniac conceived it? And yet what a lovely day it is today, a gift of a day, a perfect day lacking nothing in a Massachusetts vacation spot that is itself as harmless and pretty as any on earth.

Take a step back to recall the story that this book tells, and consider how it might come to a very unhappy ending. Imagine the history our disappointed descendants might write. For centuries, the moral teachings of a civilization held self—interest and self-trust to be the sins of frail and deluded humanity. These traditional teachings denied that societies could discern distinct and viable principles of order and design their own institutions accordingly. The denounced such efforts as doomed hubris. Then, in an unprecedented experiment, some people rejected the old wisdom. They took the heart’s desire and the body’s appetite as compass points and rededicated human ingenuity to serving them. They created new forms of order to house these inverted values. For a time, the experiment succeeded, changing life so dramatically that the utopian visions of one century became the pedestrian common sense of the next. Then, suddenly and drastically, the experiment failed. Self-interest and self-trust proved to be formulas for devastating the world. Democratic polities, the other moral center of the great experiment, could not stop runaway self-destruction and turned out to abet it instead. Faced with overwhelming evidence that they were on an unsustainable course, the freedom-loving peoples of the twenty-first century wrung their hands, congratulated themselves on their hybrid cars and locally grown food, and changed little, because it never made sense for anyone or any country to do so.

Now it is at once well worth noting that, on the one hand, the sufferings and afflictions of life can easily grow to such an extent that even death, in the flight from which the whole of life consists, becomes desirable, and a man voluntarily hastens to it. Again, on the other hand, it is worth noting that, as soon as want and suffering give man a relaxation, boredom is at once so near that he necessarily requires diversion and amusement. The striving after existence is what occupies all living things, and keeps them in motion. When existence is assured to them, they do not know what to do with it. Therefore the second thing that sets them in motion is the effort to get rid of the burden of existence, to make it no longer felt, “to kill time,” in other words, to escape from boredom. Accordingly we see that almost all men, secure from want and cares, are now a burden to themselves, after having finally cast off all other burdens. They regard as a gain every hour that is got through, and hence every deduction from that very life, whose maintenance as long as possible has till then been the object of all their efforts. Boredom is anything but an evil to be thought of lightly; ultimately it depicts on the countenance real despair. It causes beings who love one another as little as men do, to seek one another so much, and thus becomes the source of sociability. From political prudence public measures are taken against it everywhere, as against other universal calamities, since this evil, like its opposite extreme, famine, can drive people to the greatest excesses and anarchy; the people need panem et circenses.

Where truth is high ignorance is low. Where certainty is high speculation is low. Where pleasure is high pain is low. Where joy is high grief is low. Where love is high fear is low. Where modesty is high ego is low. Where tolerance is high injustice is low. Where mercy is high vengeance is low. Where integrity is high distrust is low. Where justice is high crime is low. Where equality is high abuse is low. Where freedom is high slavery is low. Where wealth is high poverty is low. Where knowledge is high illiteracy is low. Where wisdom is high imprudence is low. Where harmony is high anarchy is low. Where peace is high turmoil is low. Where order is high chaos is low. Where faith is high doubt is low. Where light is high darkness is low. Where good is high evil is low. Where strength is high weakness is low. Where pride is high wisdom is low. Where sorrow is high bliss is low. Where error is high truth is low. Where despair is high confidence is low. Where silence is high speech is low. Where tyranny is high liberty is low. Where shame is high honor is low. Where guilt is high innocence is low. Where illusion is high reality is low. Where bitterness is high happiness is low. Where want is high needs is low. Where pain is high pleasure is low. Where fear is high love is low. Where trouble is high comfort is low. Where fear is high certainty is low. Where desire is high fulfillment is low. Where apathy is high hope is low. Where confusion is high clarity is low. Where greed is high contentment is low. Where disloyalty is high friendship is low. Where wrath is high goodness is low. Where vice is high virtue is low.

Rebel [Verse 1] I don't give a fuck my brudda, I never have I'm straight from the gutter my brudda, we never had We living on a budget - holes in the rooftop Room full of buckets, it's getting bad Things could be worse I suppose, school trips, school kids Cursing my clothes, is it the same in every house When the curtains are closed? (daydreamin') I'm in a world of my own (I ain't leavin') It must be because I hate my reality That's why I'm on the verge of embracing insanity Put me in a padded room Throw away the key and let me escape the anarchy I can't take it, I turn my back on the world I can't face it, Ray-Ban gang fam Can't see my eyes cause I'm on my dark shades shit (Ray Charles) [Bridge] Black everything, you can ask David Cameron if we're living in the dark ages Black everything, you can ask David Black everything, you can ask David Black everything, you can ask David Cameron if we're living in the dark ages [Hook] (It's a living hell) I'm a rebel Always have been Where I'm come from it's a mad ting (It's a living hell) Standing in my Stan Smiths Stamping on the canvas for action (It's a living hell) All I acquired from the riot Is people are sick and tired of being quiet (It's a living hell) Dying to be heard That's why there's fire in my words [Verse 2] I don't give a fuck my brudda, I never will Straight from the gutter my brudda, rare real We been living life like "fuck it", living life like there's nothing To live for but the money, I'mma keep it 100 The hunger inside is what drives us That's why there's youngers inside who are lifers They say love is blind so you might just Fall in love with them crimes that'll blind us And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't out late Around H, scales out, another ounce weighed More pounds made, sounds great Salts under my tongue, my mouth's laced So many feds chasing me down, the ground shakes Helicopters, bikes and cars chasing So many officers behind, my heart's racing [Bridge] [Hook x2]

just had the best dream. It was National Alex Day and the world was celebrating ME! They cheered and chanted my name along with my evil laugh. They lit villagers on fire and danced in the moonlit. The skies were orange, and yellow, and red. Anarchy filled the air while drums beat wildly. The energy was mind-blowing. I was cherished, honored, loved even, all across the lands.

Like everything here, he’s just so…decadent. I’m not used to decadence, unless you count deep fried butter. I’m used to sensible. Five – and ten – year plans. Laminated menus in bright restaurants where I know what’s coming next. Here, I have no idea. I didn’t know he was going to kiss me or that one all-consuming kiss would create extraordinary anarchy.

My mind is in a constant state of anarchy because I can’t quell my heart’s uprising.

His features were Middle Eastern, his eyes haunted but also defiant. They were all defiant, Gray had found. When he looked at someone like al-Omari, Gray couldn’t help but think of a Dostoyevsky creation, the displaced outsider, brooding, plotting and methodically stroking a weapon of anarchy. It was the face of a fanatic, of one possessed by a deranged evil. It was the same type of person who’d taken away forever the two people Gray had loved most in the world. Though al-Omari was thousands of miles away in a facility only a very few people even knew existed, the picture and sound were crystal clear thanks to the satellite downlink. Through his headset he asked al-Omari a question in English. The man promptly answered in Arabic and then smiled triumphantly. In flawless Arabic Gray said, “Mr. al-Omari, I am fluent in Arabic and can actually speak it better than you. I know that you lived in England for years and that you speak English better than you do Arabic. I strongly suggest that we communicate in that language so there is absolutely no misunderstanding between us.” Al-Omari’s smile faded, and he sat straighter in his chair. Gray explained his proposal. Al-Omari was to become a spy for the United States, infiltrating one of the deadliest terrorist organizations operating in the Middle East. The man promptly refused. Gray persisted and al-Omari refused yet again, adding that “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “There are currently ninety-three terrorist organizations in the world as recognized by the U.S. State Department, most of them originating in the Middle East,” Gray responded. “You have confirmed membership in at least three of them. In addition, you were found with forged passports, structural plans to the Woodrow Wilson Bridge and bomb-making material. Now you’re going to work for us, or it will become distinctly unpleasant.” Al-Omari smiled and leaned toward the camera. “I was interrogated years ago in Jordan by your CIA and your military and your FBI, your so-called Tiger Teams. They sent females in wearing only their underwear. They wiped their menstrual blood on me, or at least what they called their menstrual blood, so I was unclean and could not perform my prayers. They rubbed their bodies against me, offered me sex if I talk. I say no to them and I am beaten afterward.” He sat back. “I have been threatened with rape, and they say I will get AIDS from it and die. I do not care. True followers of Muhammad do not fear death as you Christians do. It is your greatest weakness and will lead to your total destruction. Islam will triumph. It is written in the Qur’an. Islam will rule the world.

Love is poetic anarchy.

The following five attributes marked Rome at its end; first, a mounting love of show and luxury; second, a widening gap between the very rich and the very poor; third, an obsession with sex; fourth, freakishness in the arts, masquerading as originality and enthusiasms pretending to be creativity; and fifth, an increased desire to live off the state. ~ Edward Gibbon (1737–1794) in his Decline and Fall

Slavery divided the United States regarding the meaning of freedom and liberty. Southerners reserved freedom for whites, who occupied positions of economic power and to whom slavery was key to their economy and social philosophy. By these Americans human equality, the heart of the Declaration of Independence, was scorned. George Fitzhugh stated that equality was “practically impossible, and directly conflicts with all government, all separate property, and all social existence.”47 He despised the founder’s views of liberty and human equality: We must combat the doctrines of natural liberty and human equality, and the social contract as taught by Locke and the American sages of 1776. Under the spell of Locke and the Enlightenment Jefferson and other misguided patriots ruined the splendid political edifice they erected by espousing dangerous abstractions— the crazy notions of liberty and equality that they wrote into the Declaration of Independence and the Virginia Bill of Rights. No wonder the abolitionists loved to quote the Declaration of Independence! Its precepts are wholly at war with slavery and equally at war with all government, all subordination, all order. It is full if mendacity and error. Consider its verbose, newborn, false and unmeaning preamble. . . . There is . . . no such thing as inalienable rights. Life and liberty are not inalienable. . . . Jefferson . . . was the architect of ruin, the inaugurator of anarchy. As his Declaration of Independence Stands . . . it is “exuberantly false, and absurdly fallacious.

Slavery divided the United States regarding the meaning of freedom and liberty. Southerners reserved freedom for whites, who occupied positions of economic power and to whom slavery was key to their economy and social philosophy. By these Americans human equality, the heart of the Declaration of Independence, was scorned. George Fitzhugh stated that equality was “practically impossible, and directly conflicts with all government, all separate property, and all social existence.” He despised the founder’s views of liberty and human equality: We must combat the doctrines of natural liberty and human equality, and the social contract as taught by Locke and the American sages of 1776. Under the spell of Locke and the Enlightenment Jefferson and other misguided patriots ruined the splendid political edifice they erected by espousing dangerous abstractions— the crazy notions of liberty and equality that they wrote into the Declaration of Independence and the Virginia Bill of Rights. No wonder the abolitionists loved to quote the Declaration of Independence! Its precepts are wholly at war with slavery and equally at war with all government, all subordination, all order. It is full if mendacity and error. Consider its verbose, newborn, false and unmeaning preamble. . . . There is . . . no such thing as inalienable rights. Life and liberty are not inalienable. . . . Jefferson . . . was the architect of ruin, the inaugurator of anarchy. As his Declaration of Independence Stands . . . it is “exuberantly false, and absurdly fallacious.

Relationships weren’t a given. They weren’t a right. They were made. They were forged through blood, sweat, and tears. Through time, energy, and commitment. Through good times and bad, through hope and despair. Love had to be earned.

Those blue eyes will drag you down In the depths, you’re sure to drown But not in sorrow, nor in pain But chaos theory and in rain So keep her close, and you will know The love you hold will always glow

It meant one side of our entire race knew not the other, for how could men know women they lived with, slept beside, said they loved if those women were wearing masks to protect themselves from those very men? Half people women were, so men too lived half lives of loneliness never knowing the true comfort of understanding another soul.

(theatrically) Do you realize, Dr. Seldon, that you are speaking of an Empire that has stood for twelve thousand years, through all the vicissitudes of the generations, and which has behind it the good wishes and love of a quadrillion human beings? A.  I am aware both of the present status and the past history of the Empire. Without disrespect, I must claim a far better knowledge of it than any in this room. Q.  And you predict its ruin? A.  It is a prediction which is made by mathematics. I pass no moral judgements. Personally, I regret the prospect. Even if the Empire were admitted to be a bad thing (an admission I do not make), the state of anarchy which would follow its fall would be worse. It is that state of anarchy which my project is pledged to fight. The fall of Empire, gentlemen, is a massive thing, however, and not easily fought. It is dictated by a rising bureaucracy, a receding initiative, a freezing of caste, a damming of curiosity—a hundred other factors. It has been going on, as I have said, for centuries, and it is too majestic and massive a movement to stop.

Therefore, when we speak of ourselves as divided into Barbarians, Philistines, and Populace, we must be understood always to imply that within each of these classes there are a certain number of aliens, if we may so call them,−−persons who are mainly led, not by their class spirit, but by a general humane spirit, by the love of human perfection

this book is dedicated to the rotten bits inside us all. mostly, it’s dedicated to the people who love us despite all that. or because of it.

Already embittered at being separated from loved ones, slaves on the frontier grew 'mean.' Planters, eager to get on with the work at hand, often countered the slaves' discontent by pressing them with greater force, only to find that slaves called their bet and then raised the stakes, resisting with still greater force. As the struggle escalated, planters discovered that even their best hands became unmanageable. One planter noted that his previously compliant slaves evinced 'a general disregard (with a few exceptions) of orders . . . and an unwillingness to be pressed hard at work.' In the face of festering anger, planters struggled to sustain the old order. Drawing on lessons of mastership that had been nearly two hundred years in the making on the North American mainland, planters instituted a familiar regime: they employed force freely and often; created invidious divisions among the slaves; and exacted exemplary punishments for the smallest infraction. If they sometimes extended the carrot of privilege, the stick was never far behind. The results were violent and bloody, as slave masters made it clear that slaves, by definition, had no rights they need respect. The plantation did not just happen; it had to be made to happen. Planter authority did not transplant easily. Relations between masters and slaves teetered toward anarchy on the cotton frontier. In some places, negotiations between owners and owned became little more than hard words and angry threats. Rumors of rebellion seemed to be everywhere. 'Scarcely a day passes,' observed Mississippi's territorial governor in 1812, 'without my receiving some information relative to the designs of those people to insurrect.' While few rebelled, some joined gangs of bandits and outlaws who resided in the middle ground between the westward-moving planters and the retreating Indians. On the plantations, slave masters saw sabotage everywhere - in broken tools, maimed animals, and burned barns. Slaves regularly took flight to the woods, and a few, eager to regain the world they had lost, tried to retrace their steps to Virginia or the Carolinas. It was a doubtful enterprise, and success was rare. Recaptured, they faced an even grimmer reality than before.

Nothing that truly mattered in life came easily. That was as true before the collapse as after. Nothing was owed to you. Nothing. Not love. Not freedom. Not even family. Relationships weren’t a given. They weren’t a right. They were made. They were forged through blood, sweat, and tears. Through time, energy, and commitment. Through good times and bad, through hope and despair.

Someone once told me the people you love become stars and watch over you after they die,

No, I mean, I really can't. I love MK, don't get me wrong, but holy shit she's loud in bed. I actually got Kody to buy me earplugs this morning on our way over. If I have to hear my friend begging for one of the guys to fuck her ass one more time, I'm gonna puke.

as I can now and I know that the things I do, the things I've done are unforgivable. But I also know that being that man is all I know how to be. And I'm not going to have some epiphany one day where I fall in love with a girl and realise the error of my ways and dance off into the sunset. My version of a happily ever after is never going to fall into a nice, neat little box that can be tied off with a pretty bow and have me making some girl's dreams all come true.

Time is an anarchy. There are whole sections of years that have, in my mind, disappeared, time revealing its tricks to me like a cocky necromantic. The gaps are caverns of absence, temporal wormholes, where all I can recall is the sensation of being stretched between many different dimensions of crisis at once.

I try, I really do, but nobody touched me or hugged me or loved on me as a child. It’s a struggle every goddamn day to remember how to behave.

I pull her face forward, so that our lips are touching. She tastes like tears when I lick her mouth, but that’s okay. Those tears belong to me as much as her smile or her laughter. When you accept a person for who they are, you don’t choose bits and pieces. You accept every part of them, right down to the rotten bits. Because everybody wants somebody to love their rottenness. Even me.

I can't ignore the way I feel about you, and in case you missed the point here, let me spell it out. I don't love you. I'm in love with you. No amount of hard-headed denial will change that. Neither will the added complications in the kitchen right now.

You're a piece of fucking work, Dare. You wanna tell me your dead ex tortured some high school kid that you've been fucking? For what? You sure as hell aren't in love. You've been using him, just like you use everyone you meet. And when they're no longer useful, you kill them. Just like you killed Dad when he wouldn't give you the power you wanted. You're fucking sick, Dare. You need professional help.

Anarchy must embrace the din of bombs and cannon-fire, yet always must it love sweet music more

I was eight when I first saw you. Fifteen when I hated you. I’ve loved you for almost a decade. Do the math. Add me and you together and you get one. One heart beating in a broken chest. There is beauty in havoc, peace in chaos, and wisdom in anarchy.

Love is the only miracle there is. Love is the ladder from hell to heaven. Love learned well, you have learned all. Love missed, you missed your whole life. One who knows love has known the Beloved: love is the insight into the Beloved. One who asks about light, simply says that he is blind. One who asks about God, simply says his heart has not bloomed into love. Never ask about God. If you cannot see him that simply shows you don't have eyes to see. If you cannot hear him that simply shows you are deaf. If you cannot touch him that simply shows you are without hands -- that you don't have any sensitivity. God is not far away, God is herenow. All that is, is in God and is God -- so how can God be the problem? God is not to be searched: where will you search him? He is everywhere -- you just have to learn how to open your eyes of love. Once love has penetrated your heart, God is there. In the thrill of love is the Beloved: in the vision of love is the vision of God. Love changes the whole climate of your inner being -- and with that change the whole existence is changed. Nothing is changed on the outside -- but once you are full of love you have a totally different existence available to you. God and the world are not two things, it is the one existence. There is only one existence: seen without love, it looks material; seen without love, God looks like the world -- SANSARA. Seen with love, the world is transformed, transfigured... and the very world becomes divine. Yes, then in sight there is music. When love has dawned, then miracles happen -- even in sight there is music; in sound, a luminous silence. Love is magical. And Kabir's whole teaching is that of love: he calls love "the divine melody." The heart, pulsating in love, becomes a flute on the lips of God... and a song is born. That song is religion. ...religion is born only when somebody pulsates with love. Each individual has to give birth to a religion.. To be religious you have to give birth to religion in your innermost core, in your very core: when religion is born THERE, only then are you religious. When you are born in love, religion is born in you -- and then your whole life is a melody, a beautiful song. And then you will be surprised that nothing is wrong: all fits together. Right now, nothing fits together. Right now, you are a mess: right now, you are an anarchy. Right now, you are just traffic noise -- rushing in all directions, falling apart, disintegrating. Right now, you are nothing but anguish, agony. Once love is born, you have a center. Once love is born, you are centered -- and everything falls in tune with the center. You become an orchestra, a beautiful harmony. It is hidden in you: you have brought it into the world, it is yet unmanifest. Kabir says: Manifest it -- let your love be manifested. In that manifestation will be your prayer.

This is who you are, I thought, and my eyes were wet with love for myself and my lovers and for the world. How wonderful and strange it is to be alive! How uneven we are, and how lucky, in our delirious specificity and holy broken forms.

The reasoning of our minds keeps us locked inside the powerless ideas, beliefs, mindsets, and ideologies of the cosmos. But when we turn to the deep feelings that bubble up from the life-giving Spirit within us, we are accessing and operating within a very different, powerful dimension—and this needs investigating. All those Father-like loving, forgiving, and protecting attributes that religion taught us to associate with a God located up in the sky are qualities of the life-giving Spirit within us. The power to save our world and create a new order is not up in the sky, but inside ourselves. We are carrying it around daily.

The Truth   The truth is that the Church was never given the task of conquering the world for Christ or solving all the world’s political and social problems. We were commanded to preach the Gospel and make disciples (Matthew 28:18-20). And yes, we were instructed to stand for righteousness (Matthew 5:1316). But the restoration of God’s creation is a task that will be accomplished by Jesus when He returns to reign in glory and majesty from Mt. Zion in Jerusalem (Acts 3:18-21 and Matthew 19:28-29). The sad thing is that the heresy concerning Bible prophecy is distracting people from the truth that we are living in the end times and that we are right on the threshold of the Tribulation when God will pour out His wrath on those who have rejected His grace, mercy and love. Satan must be very pleased, because that is a truth he does not want anyone to know.

The Authority has said: Dream! But in truth , they mete out our destinies in tiny rations; they’ve said how far we can go, how long, and where. Aspirations are useless, because to aspire, is to reach. Dream, they say, but not too big. Laugh, they say, but not too loudly . Love, they say, but not too hard. When you find you cannot contain yourself any longer and you imagine things beyond the walls they’ve built for you, constructed to imprison your desires, and when your heart is filled with impossible things, then, I say, you have achieved true independence. Our Anarchy is not simply a battle of flesh and blood; it is a war of the mind. The time is always now to declare your freedom!