Brotherhood Loyalty Quotes

We men and women are all in the same boat, upon a stormy sea. We owe to each other a terrible and tragic loyalty.

Mutual survival was the basis of brotherhood and loyalty, even of love.

For while this year it may be a Catholic against whom the finger of suspicion is pointed, in other years it has been, and may someday be again, a Jew--or a Quaker--or a Unitarian--or a Baptist. It was Virginia's harassment of Baptist preachers, for example, that helped lead to Jefferson's statute of religious freedom. Today I may be the victim- -but tomorrow it may be you--until the whole fabric of our harmonious society is ripped at a time of great national peril. Finally, I believe in an America where religious intolerance will someday end--where all men and all churches are treated as equal--where every man has the same right to attend or not attend the church of his choice--where there is no Catholic vote, no anti-Catholic vote, no bloc voting of any kind--and where Catholics, Protestants and Jews, at both the lay and pastoral level, will refrain from those attitudes of disdain and division which have so often marred their works in the past, and promote instead the American ideal of brotherhood. That is the kind of America in which I believe. And it represents the kind of Presidency in which I believe--a great office that must neither be humbled by making it the instrument of any one religious group nor tarnished by arbitrarily withholding its occupancy from the members of any one religious group. I believe in a President whose religious views are his own private affair, neither imposed by him upon the nation or imposed by the nation upon him as a condition to holding that office. ... This is the kind of America I believe in--and this is the kind I fought for in the South Pacific, and the kind my brother died for in Europe. No one suggested then that we may have a "divided loyalty," that we did "not believe in liberty," or that we belonged to a disloyal group that threatened the "freedoms for which our forefathers died.

I've come to the conclusion that a man without a cause is nothing. He has nothing to look forward to, he has nothing to work toward; he is as a man lost, wandering in the darkest part of his heart to find a deeper, better purpose in his life.

Brotherhood might be unique to men, but loyalty, devotion to friends, and a sense of fairness are not. They are the precise reasons I became a conscript in Dabao's place. I could never have been at peace with myself knowing that it was within my power to do something for Auntie Xia and Dabao and not have done it.

When you are a soldier you do not always realize there is anything beyond the will of your commander, the will of your king. But when you're on the field of battle, when the swords clash and the colors fly above you in all their glory, there comes a time when you wonder: Why am I here? All the brilliance fades, the glory becomes meaningless; the blood spilled and comrades dead, all for nothing when you have no cause to fight for.

Go home, talk about it together. Bake Christmas cookies and crap. Then tell me what you want to happen. Know that I’m yours. My loyalty, my soul is yours no matter what you decide. Crap, you can shoot me in the back, and I’ll never want anything but to be around you hookers.” Blake stood and shook his head. “Nah, I don’t need time. I appreciate the place in Hawaii, and it would be great to go to—maybe for a vacation sometime? But I’m here. I’m not leaving you. You’re my family.

[Robert's eulogy at his brother, Ebon C. Ingersoll's grave. Even the great orator Robert Ingersoll was choked up with tears at the memory of his beloved brother] The record of a generous life runs like a vine around the memory of our dead, and every sweet, unselfish act is now a perfumed flower. Dear Friends: I am going to do that which the dead oft promised he would do for me. The loved and loving brother, husband, father, friend, died where manhood's morning almost touches noon, and while the shadows still were falling toward the west. He had not passed on life's highway the stone that marks the highest point; but, being weary for a moment, he lay down by the wayside, and, using his burden for a pillow, fell into that dreamless sleep that kisses down his eyelids still. While yet in love with life and raptured with the world, he passed to silence and pathetic dust. Yet, after all, it may be best, just in the happiest, sunniest hour of all the voyage, while eager winds are kissing every sail, to dash against the unseen rock, and in an instant hear the billows roar above a sunken ship. For whether in mid sea or 'mong the breakers of the farther shore, a wreck at last must mark the end of each and all. And every life, no matter if its every hour is rich with love and every moment jeweled with a joy, will, at its close, become a tragedy as sad and deep and dark as can be woven of the warp and woof of mystery and death. This brave and tender man in every storm of life was oak and rock; but in the sunshine he was vine and flower. He was the friend of all heroic souls. He climbed the heights, and left all superstitions far below, while on his forehead fell the golden dawning, of the grander day. He loved the beautiful, and was with color, form, and music touched to tears. He sided with the weak, the poor, and wronged, and lovingly gave alms. With loyal heart and with the purest hands he faithfully discharged all public trusts. He was a worshipper of liberty, a friend of the oppressed. A thousand times I have heard him quote these words: 'For Justice all place a temple, and all season, summer!' He believed that happiness was the only good, reason the only torch, justice the only worship, humanity the only religion, and love the only priest. He added to the sum of human joy; and were every one to whom he did some loving service to bring a blossom to his grave, he would sleep to-night beneath a wilderness of flowers. Life is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two eternities. We strive in vain to look beyond the heights. We cry aloud, and the only answer is the echo of our wailing cry. From the voiceless lips of the unreplying dead there comes no word; but in the night of death hope sees a star and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing. He who sleeps here, when dying, mistaking the approach of death for the return of health, whispered with his latest breath, 'I am better now.' Let us believe, in spite of doubts and dogmas, of fears and tears, that these dear words are true of all the countless dead. And now, to you, who have been chosen, from among the many men he loved, to do the last sad office for the dead, we give his sacred dust. Speech cannot contain our love. There was, there is, no gentler, stronger, manlier man.

There was something twisting in his gut that he wanted to deny and couldn't. It was like a knife in him that he could not remove lest he bleed to death.

Blood gets you related. Loyalty, bond and treatment makes you family.

There will always be wars," Maggie told him. "Yes," Reeve replied. "But there will also be brothers, sisters, comrades and lovers as well, and they are who we fight for. Our comrades--our brothers--beside us on the field; our wives and families at home. Wallace wishes for freedom. It is a gife given by God and should not be taken by men; it is the right of every man to be free and it is our duty to protect that right so that our children may know what it is to be free and not live under oppression.

Nello and Patrasche were left all alone in the world. They were friends in a friendship closer than brotherhood. Nello was a little Ardennois—Patrasche was a big Fleming. They were both of the same age by length of years, yet one was still young, and the other was already old. They had dwelt together almost all their days: both were orphaned and destitute, and owed their lives to the same hand. It had been the beginning of the tie between them, their first bond of sympathy; and it had strengthened day by day, and had grown with their growth, firm and indissoluble, until they loved one another very greatly.

The groups in different areas that were affiliated with us knew one thing for sure, and that is that they could trust and respect the base. When you look at it, people want to know they have someone in their corner for the worst. Scrooge, former leader of the Rebellion Raiders street gang that once boasted of having some ten thousand members

The religious scholar and Muslim Brotherhood ideologist Sayyid Qutb articulated perhaps the most learned and influential version of this view. In 1964, while imprisoned on charges of participating in a plot to assassinate Egyptian President Nasser, Qutb wrote Milestones, a declaration of war against the existing world order that became a foundational text of modern Islamism. In Qutb’s view, Islam was a universal system offering the only true form of freedom: freedom from governance by other men, man-made doctrines, or “low associations based on race and color, language and country, regional and national interests” (that is, all other modern forms of governance and loyalty and some of the building blocks of Westphalian order). Islam’s modern mission, in Qutb’s view, was to overthrow them all and replace them with what he took to be a literal, eventually global implementation of the Quran. The culmination of this process would be “the achievement of the freedom of man on earth—of all mankind throughout the earth.” This would complete the process begun by the initial wave of Islamic expansion in the seventh and eighth centuries, “which is then to be carried throughout the earth to the whole of mankind, as the object of this religion is all humanity and its sphere of action is the whole earth.” Like all utopian projects, this one would require extreme measures to implement. These Qutb assigned to an ideologically pure vanguard, who would reject the governments and societies prevailing in the region—all of which Qutb branded “unIslamic and illegal”—and seize the initiative in bringing about the new order.

The European powers at that time believed they could change Moslem Asia in the very fundamentals of its political existence, and in their attempt to do so introduced an artificial state system into the Middle East that has made it into a region of countries that have not become nations even today. The basis of political life in the Middle East—religion—was called into question by the Russians, who proposed communism, and by the British, who proposed nationalism or dynastic loyalty, in its place. Khomeini's Iran in the Shi'ite world and the Moslem Brotherhood in Egypt, Syria, and elsewhere in the Sunni world keep that issue alive. The French government, which in the Middle East did allow religion to be the basis of politics—even of its own—championed one sect against the others; and that, too, is an issue kept alive, notably in the communal strife that has ravaged Lebanon in the 1970s and 1980s.

How would a restored Islamic world order relate to the modern international system, built around states? A true Muslim’s loyalty, al-Banna argued, was to multiple, overlapping spheres, at the apex of which stood a unified Islamic system whose purview would eventually embrace the entire world. His homeland was first a “particular country”; “then it extends to the other Islamic countries, for all of them are a fatherland and an abode for the Muslim”; then it proceeds to an “Islamic Empire” on the model of that erected by the pious ancestors, for “the Muslim will be asked before God” what he had done “to restore it.” The final circle was global: “Then the fatherland of the Muslim expands to encompass the entire world. Do you not hear the words of God (Blessed and Almighty is He!): ‘Fight them until there is no more persecution, and worship is devoted to God’?” Where possible, this fight would be gradualist and peaceful. Toward non-Muslims, so long as they did not oppose the movement and paid it adequate respect, the early Muslim Brotherhood counseled “protection,” “moderation and deep-rooted equity.” Foreigners were to be treated with “peacefulness and sympathy, so long as they behave with rectitude and sincerity.” Therefore, it was “pure fantasy” to suggest that the implementation of “Islamic institutions in our modern life would create estrangement between us and the Western nations.

In a prior age, the human experience was understood as the temporal embodiment of desire, delight, fear, grief, faith, love, hope, hatred, horror, sympathy, gentleness, kindness, loyalty, fidelity, sublimity, desperation, chagrin, anger, fury, wrath, distress, discomposure, shame, dignity, indignity, glory, contempt, slight, heartbreak, fondness, tenderness, adoration, infatuation, compassion, goodwill, worship, sorrow, anguish, despair, woe, dejection, despondency, duty, angst, reverence, respect, esteem, exaltation, melancholy, disquiet, weariness, felicity, glee, bliss, ecstasy, rapture, euphoria, exhilaration, rhapsody, brotherhood, contemplation, mediation, surrender, fancy, impulse, yearning, thirst, hankering, pining, enthusiasm, need, obligation, fancy, mystery, helplessness, luck, recklessness, boldness, fearlessness, wildness, sorrow, regret, gloom, heavyheartedness, and dreaminess and ten thousand others. These are the sentiments which great art compels us to feel. But mediocre art truncates the human experience. It prunes and lops off all the diversity and richness of life and leaves us with little more than lust, amusement, self-fulfillment, and the resentment which comes from our endless search for the power that now attends victimhood.

Rather stupid creatures, aren't they?' he said to draw her eyes back to this. 'No. I find them quite - admirable, in fact.' 'How so?' She gave him a frown, as though doubting the sincerity of his interest. The hesitance was new to her, and it grated him, for it suggested an unpleasant history - one in which her youthful confidence had been eroded, gradually, by men who took no interest in her thoughts. 'Go on,' he said. 'Do you mean to follow Mandeville, and argue that bees show how self-interest and vice might profit the world?' She laughed. 'Oh, no. I was thinking far less philosophically. Besides, Mandeville wrongs the poor bees in his verse. They are quite Christian in their industry, don't you think? Unceasing in their duties. And yet - one cannot say their docility signifies stupidity, or any dullness of sentiment. When one of their own is threatened, they rouse in unison to defend him. Even the lowliest drone might count on his brethren's support, and I think - I think there is great virtue, great comfort, in such brotherhood.' [...] 'You are no drone, Nora. And unthinking loyalty is no virtue by my account.' Her mouth flattened. She locked eyes with him for a hard second. 'Do not imagine my loyalty is unthinking.

Buddha-nature or real self, being the seat of love and the nucleus of sincerity, forms the warp and woof of all moral actions. He is an obedient son who serves his parents with sincerity and love. He is a loyal subject who serves his master with sincerity and love. A virtuous wife is she who loves her husband with her sincere heart. A trustworthy friend is he who keeps company with others with sincerity and love. A man of righteousness is he who leads a life of sincerity and love. Generous and humane is he who sympathizes with his fellow-men with his sincere heart. Veracity, chastity, filial piety, loyalty, righteousness, generosity, humanity, and what not-all-this is no other than Buddha-nature applied to various relationships of human brotherhood.

The revolution will not be televised. It will be novelized.

For more than a thousand years this idea of the unity of Christendom, of Christendom as a sort of vast Amphictyony, whose members even in war time were restrained from many extremities by the idea of a common brotherhood and a common loyalty to the Church, dominated Europe. The history of Europe from the fifth century onward to the fifteenth is very largely the history of the failure of this great idea of a divine world to realize itself in practice. The

Hitler taught his people to quit hating each other as isolated, lonely and frightened individuals, and gave them back that holy sense of nationhood, of "Tribe"; yes, of real brotherhood (not the artificial kind peddled by the Jews)... no man can live happily, successfully, and productively as a lonely, bitter individual at war with all his fellows. Every one of us has a deep need for the warmth and love of his group, of those in his biological family of people. Modern man has lost that feeling of group warmth, loyalty and love, and the result is the chaos and spiritual emptiness we see all around us in this disintegrating Western society.

Members of Sigma House are trained not to care about anything. And I didn’t. But that was before Violet. So we stand here with marks carved into our chests to prove our loyalty, but it doesn’t matter. We survive more than our scars within these walls. We survive this house. This brotherhood. And I survive for her. Only her. Violet won’t die tonight. But I’m going to slice off every part of Braxton that has touched her to teach him what it means to be loyal.

I don’t trust mercenaries,” Adara said. “Too often they can be bought by your enemies.” Thomas, Christian, and Phantom laughed at that. “Trust me, my lady,” Christian said, “no one could ever buy their loyalty.” “Many a dead man has made the same claim,” Lutian said from his end of the table. Thomas made a tsking noise. “He’s right about that. I trust Ioan, but some of his men—” “Will die if they betray us,” Phantom said menacingly. He pulled his knife out of the table from where he had embedded it and tested the edge against his fingers. “I’ve sent many a man to his grave for lesser things.” His eerie gaze became intense, almost mad-looking. “Death to any who betray our kinship.” “Aye,” Christian agreed. Suddenly he grimaced, then gasped as if his shoulder were paining him again. Adara went to him immediately. “You should return to bed.” He nodded. “I’ll rest tonight, but we have much to do come morning.” She couldn’t believe he would even suggest such a thing. “Why not stay here a few days so that you can recover?” Christian rubbed his shoulder. “The assassins sent after us won’t wait and I’ve no wish to see the monks here endangered in my fight. Not to mention they wouldn’t think kindly on an army being amassed on holy property.” Her husband did have a point. The Church did tend to frown on warfare. “I still think you need to rest.” He smiled at that as if it amused him. “Good night,” Christian said before he turned and left. Adara followed him. She didn’t speak until he was back in his room, getting into bed. “I’m sorry that I caused your wounds, Christian.” “You didn’t cause my wounds, Adara,” he said as he lay down. “The men wielding swords did that.” -Adara, Christian, Lutian, Thomas, & Phantom

Phantom choked on the porridge. Brother Thomas pounded him on the back while Phantom reached for, then drank from a small wooden cup. He gave a menacing glare to Thomas, who immediately halted his hand in the mid-pounding stroke position. “Pardon?” Phantom asked once he’d regained some composure. “I wish to go home and I need a guide and guard.” He cleared his throat. “You’ll get neither from me, Your Majesty. I will not return there. Ever.” “Why are we returning with Phantom, my queen?” She glanced over to Lutian. “I’ll explain later.” Then she looked back at Phantom. “I can pay you a fortune.” Phantom scoffed at that. “Coin is ever useless to a corpse.” She arched a brow at him. “Are you afraid, then?” He laughed bitterly. “Hardly, and you’ll never get me to agree by calling me craven.” “Then what will it take?” Phantom wiped his mouth, then gave Brother Thomas an almost amused smirk. “You haven’t enough money, power, or influence to buy me, Your Majesty. There are some things—few, I grant you, but some—that are not for purchase. My loyalty, or in this case stupidity, will not be bartered for any price.” He picked his cup up and lifted it in a mock salute. “Work your wiles on your husband. He’s the greater fool of the two of us.” Her throat tight, Adara struggled for composure. “And therein lies the problem. I’ve no wish to work my wiles on him, either. He’s suffered enough in this.” -Phantom, Adara, & Lutian

As soon as they were alone, Ioan’s face softened. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Christian?” “We are in need of an army.” “Done,” Ioan said without hesitation. “My men are yours.” “We’ll have to go back through the Holy Land,” Phantom said. “That bothers me not.” It was Adara’s turn to frown at the man’s blasé acceptance of their mission. “Don’t you want to know why we need your army?” Ioan shrugged. “I assume it is to fight.” “Aye,” she said slowly, “but don’t you want to know why you’re fighting?” “I am fighting because Brother Christian needs me.” -Ioan, Christian, Phantom, & Adara

All four of them turned to see Christian standing in the open doorway. He wore a pair of black breeches and a black tunic that he’d left untied about his neck, showing her that he hadn’t donned his armor. His handsome face was pale but determined. “This is no longer your fight, Christian,” Adara said. “I will raise my own army.” He scoffed at that. “Aye, but it is. They made it so the instant they traveled here like a pack of wild dogs to kill us.” Phantom laughed evilly. “No man kills me and lives.” Christian nodded. “Exactly.” Adara frowned at them, not understanding the phrase. “It was a pact they took in prison,” Thomas explained to her. “No one would take their lives without paying dearly for it.” Christian’s pale blue eyes fairly glowed in the dim light of the refectory. “I never had any intention of going to Elgedera. But they didn’t send a single man to kill me or Adara, they sent an entire garrison or more, and that was their mistake. They have dropped the gauntlet before me and I intend to return it fully met.” Christian looked at each of them in turn. “Basilli and Selwyn have no intention of letting this matter end until we are dead. Therefore I shall end it once and for all. The prince is going home to be crowned king and to exact his revenge. Swear your fealty to me, Phantom, and I’ll see to it that you’ll have the choicest land in the kingdom.” “Why would you choose me?” “Because you have ever been in my shadow, lurking there and only emerging when I need you. I never understood why, but your loyalty has long been noted and appreciated. I would have no other man at my back for this.” Phantom seemed to consider his words. “Are you ready for the battle, Abbot?” He nodded grimly. Adara smiled in relief. Part of her was grateful, but the other part didn’t like the thought of adding any more grief to a man who had suffered so much. “Are you certain you want to do this?” Christian turned toward her. “They won’t leave me in peace, therefore I intend to leave them in pieces.” Phantom lifted his cup. “God save the king.” “And the queen,” Lutian chimed in sincerely. -Adara, Christian, Phantom, Thomas, & Lutian

Most man books will herald the brotherhood of men: the indestructible bond of loyalties so deep they are a subconscious response. This, on some small level, is true but is by no means worth filling entire libraries about, at least any more than stories about girls developing strong wills against all odds.

He seduced them with big dreams, soft living, and the fantasy of brotherhood. In return, he enjoyed the kind of loyalty most petty kings only dreamed about.

Trez had run into when he’d finally dropped himself out of the air . . . also the one where Rehv had had to do the duty with that nasty symphath Princess who’d been blackmailing him. Trez had taken shelter when Rehv had arrived and fucked the bitch standing up a couple of times. Afterward, she had left him in a mess on the floor, the poison she’d put on her skin having leveled Rehvenge. Caring for the guy had only seemed natural. And in return? He and that purple-eyed bastard had become brothers of a sort. To the point where, when iAm had turned up on the outside, the three of them had fallen in together, Trez’s loyalty and gratitude indenturing him and his kin to the sin-eater.

...Our love endureth, Though in twain we rent the Round Table's Freedom and fellowship, fiercely striving. Swift swords we drew Against sworn brethren, Ere the queen was taken...

I promise you, nothing would happen to you,” Anakin said, and inside, he felt the sun-dragon roar, the way it always did in the furnace of his heart during these circumstances. When anyone showed loyalty to Anakin Skywalker, they became an ally for life. And if they ever betrayed him, that intensity would immediately invert into something much more dangerous.

Driving along Broadway, he sees a young guy exit a bus and then turn to help an old woman who was waiting to board that bus. In his entire life, Bobby’s never seen more people help little old ladies cross streets, avoid puddles or potholes, carry their groceries, or find their car keys in purses overstuffed with rosary beads and damp tissues. Everyone knows everyone here; they stop one another in the streets to ask after spouses, children, cousins twice removed. Come winter, they shovel walks together, join up to push cars out of snowbanks, freely pass around bags of salt or sand for icy sidewalks. Summertime, they congregate on porches and stoops or cluster in lawn chairs along the sidewalks to shoot the shit, trade the daily newspapers, and listen to Ned Martin calling the Sox games on ’HDH. They drink beer like it’s tap water, smoke ciggies as if the pack will self-destruct at midnight, and call to one another—across streets, to and from cars, and up at distant windows—like impatience is a virtue. They love the church but aren’t real fond of mass. They only like the sermons that scare them; they mistrust any that appeal to their empathy. They all have nicknames. No James can just be a James; has to be Jim or Jimmy or Jimbo or JJ or, in one case, Tantrum. There are so many Sullivans that calling someone Sully isn’t enough. In Bobby’s various incursions here over the years, he’s met a Sully One, a Sully Two, an Old Sully, a Young Sully, Sully White, Sully Tan, Two-Time Sully, Sully the Nose, and Little Sully (who’s fucking huge). He’s met guys named Zipperhead, Pool Cue, Pot Roast, and Ball Sac (son of Sully Tan). He’s come across Juggs, Nicklebag, Drano, Pink Eye (who’s blind), Legsy (who limps), and Handsy (who’s got none). Every guy has a thousand-yard stare. Every woman has an attitude. Every face is whiter than the whitest paint you’ve ever seen and then, just under the surface, misted with an everlasting Irish pink that sometimes turns to acne and sometimes doesn’t. They’re the friendliest people he’s ever met. Until they aren’t. At which point they’ll run over their own grandmothers to ram your fucking skull through a brick wall. He has no idea where it all comes from—the loyalty and the rage, the brotherhood and the suspicion, the benevolence and the hate. But he suspects it has something to do with the need for a life to have meaning.

Music journalist Chris Nelson once wrote, “Their friendship formed the living core of the Minutemen, while their loyalty to each other and San Pedro informed the overarching theme of brotherhood that permeates the band’s catalog.