Fractured Freedom Quotes

Truth is freedom. Freedom is truth.

A free world is also a world of fracture

We get the darkness and the pain before we get the light of our heaven, huh?

Christians need to stop worrying about the unhealthy fallout of unhealthy people who are challenged by healthy decisions. We can’t control the way someone responds, and their response isn’t on us. We control our own efforts to be as loving, true, gentle, and kind as our God calls us to be as we live with healthy, God-ordained priorities. As biblical counselor Brad Hambrick has told me, grieving is a better use of emotional energy here than fretting or second-guessing, so keep the emphasis there. Learn how to grieve fractured relationships, and then learn how to let them go. Don’t let disappointment morph into self-doubt and self-flagellation. Just because you wish something wasn’t a certain way doesn’t mean it’s your fault that it’s not.

Remember, when you come this hard and get this wet, it means you’re getting fucked right. Remember not to ever settle

He was mob. I was a nurse. He was my older brother’s best friend. I was the kid sister. He was my heart, while our lost baby was my heartbreak.

The wolf gets what he wants, and I was just the lamb, too overpowered by who he was to do anything else.

Christians we cannot be allowed to be fractured at a time like this. There are more of us, there are more of light in us than in the agents of darkness.

I intend to make you see that my torture for you is seduction, my punishment is pleasure, and you’ll only fear how much your body can take.

I have to put this pussy on a pedestal so I can eat like it’s on a platter, baby. Then I’m going to fuck you at just the right angle, make sure you remember who makes you feel this way.

There’s a moment when a person knows they’re in love because they find themselves wondering what can be done to make the other person happy, even if it causes their own pain. They find themselves doing things that are completely against their own logic.

Love sneaks up and snatches a heart from its owner so fast they don’t seem to know it’s gone for days, weeks, sometimes months. I think Dante had my heart all along. Even when I tried to protect it from the disaster that could happen between us, I never really had a chance.

167 It’s one of those days when the monotony of everything oppresses me like being thrown into jail. The monotony of everything is merely the monotony of myself, however. Each face, even if seen just yesterday, is different today, because today isn’t yesterday. Each day is the day it is, and there was never another one like it in the world. Only our soul makes the identification – a genuinely felt but erroneous identification – by which everything becomes similar and simplified. The world is a set of distinct things with varied edges, but if we’re near-sighted, it’s a continual and indecipherable fog. I feel like fleeing. Like fleeing from what I know, fleeing from what’s mine, fleeing from what I love. I want to depart, not for impossible Indias or for the great islands south of everything, but for any place at all – village or wilderness – that isn’t this place. I want to stop seeing these unchanging faces, this routine, these days. I want to rest, far removed, from my inveterate feigning. I want to feel sleep come to me as life, not as rest. A cabin on the seashore or even a cave in a rocky mountainside could give me this, but my will, unfortunately, cannot. Slavery is the law of life, and it is the only law, for it must be observed: there is no revolt possible, no way to escape it. Some are born slaves, others become slaves, and still others are forced to accept slavery. Our faint-hearted love of freedom – which, if we had it, we would all reject, unable to get used to it – is proof of how ingrained our slavery is. I myself, having just said that I’d like a cabin or a cave where I could be free from the monotony of everything, which is the monotony of me – would I dare set out for this cabin or cave, knowing from experience that the monotony, since it stems from me, will always be with me? I myself, suffocating from where I am and because I am – where would I breathe easier, if the sickness is in my lungs rather than in the things that surround me? I myself, who long for pure sunlight and open country, for the ocean in plain view and the unbroken horizon – could I get used to my new bed, the food, not having to descend eight flights of stairs to the street, not entering the tobacco shop on the corner, not saying good-morning to the barber standing outside his shop? Everything that surrounds us becomes part of us, infiltrating our physical sensations and our feeling of life, and like spittle of the great Spider it subtly binds us to whatever is close, tucking us into a soft bed of slow death which is rocked by the wind. Everything is us, and we are everything, but what good is this, if everything is nothing? A ray of sunlight, a cloud whose shadow tells us it is passing, a breeze that rises, the silence that follows when it ceases, one or another face, a few voices, the incidental laughter of the girls who are talking, and then night with the meaningless, fractured hieroglyphs of the stars.

The Offing - And if the sky itself, no matter its hue, were to fracture... What then? Would I then know freedom's name? In my wake lies the shore—a past where I had been happy—refusing to yield to the tide. Before me, upon the horizon, is the sun... hesitant... inert... A new day cannot rise if its ancestor does not fall. Am I but a pawn in this game? I cannot command the sun to set, nor will the moon to take its place and wash the shore away. That power belongs to kings. To drown in the offing. Such sovereign beauty. Such exquisite pain.

Sometimes we posit a scenario in which we were both young when we met, and we imagine that we would have had kids, if only because I would have wanted them. And we would have raised them with all our best efforts and unflagging commitment. But we also would have become different people, made different choices, and had a different relationship with each other; more distant and harried, more responsible, more grown-up. Instead, we have this life, and we are these people. We get to go to bed every night together, alone, and wake up together, alone. Our shared passions thrill and satisfy us, and our abundant freedoms—to daydream; to cook exactly the food we want when we want it; to drink wine and watch a movie without worrying about who’s not yet asleep upstairs; to pick up and go anywhere we want, anytime; to do our work uninterrupted; to shape our own days to our own liking; and to stay connected to each other without feeling fractured—are not things we’d choose to give up for anyone, ever.

Why Trump, many wondered, including many evangelicals themselves. For decades, the Religious Right had been kindling fear in the hearts of American Christians. It was a tried-and-true recipe for their own success. Communism, secular humanism, feminism, multilateralism, Islamic terrorism, and the erosion of religious freedom—evangelical leaders had rallied support by mobilizing followers to fight battles on which the fate of the nation, and their own families, seemed to hinge. Leaders of the Religious Right had been amping up their rhetoric over the course of the Obama administration. The first African American president, the sea change in LGBTQ rights, the apparent erosion of religious freedom—coupled with looming demographic changes and the declining religious loyalty of their own children—heightened the sense of dread among white evangelicals. But in truth, evangelical leaders had been perfecting this pitch for nearly fifty years. Evangelicals were looking for a protector, an aggressive, heroic, manly man, someone who wasn’t restrained by political correctness or feminine virtues, someone who would break the rules for the right cause. Try as they might—and they did try—no other candidate could measure up to Donald Trump when it came to flaunting an aggressive, militant masculinity. He became, in the words of his religious biographers, “the ultimate fighting champion for evangelicals.” 6

When you get right down to the nuts and bolts of understanding what the brain is doing and the relationship between conscious experience and the brain,” Dr. Schwartz said, “the data do not support the commonly held principle that you can just will yourself into one mental state or another. “It’s a subtle thing, freedom. It takes effort; it takes attention and focus to not act something like an automaton. Although we do have freedom, we exercise it only when we strive for awareness, when we are conscious not just of the content of the mind but also of the mind itself as a process.” When not governed by conscious awareness, our mind tends to run on automatic pilot. It is scarcely more “free” than a computer that performs preprogrammed tasks in response to a button being pushed. The distinction between automatic mechanism and conscious free will may be illustrated by the difference between punching a wall with your fist in a fit of reactive rage and mindfully saying to yourself, “I have so much anger in me, I really want to punch this wall right now”—or even more consciously, “My mind tells me I should punch the wall.” The latter mind-states give you the option of not striking the wall, without which there is no choice and no freedom—just a fractured hand and a head full of regret. “Choice,” Eckhart Tolle points out, “implies consciousness—a high degree of consciousness. Without it, you have no choice.

He did have some small advantage, though. He knew the truth about surveillance. Ever since the dawn of GWOT the nations of the West – apart from the United States, where civil libertarians tended to carry rifles and use them on closed-circuit cameras as an expression of their freedoms – had put their faith in creating a paranoid state, one where every move of every citizen was recorded and logged and filmed and fuck you, if you’ve got nothing to hide you’ve got nothing to worry about. Whether this had had any great influence in the course of GWOT was a moot point, but there was one thing not generally appreciated about the paranoid state. It was incredibly labour-intensive. There were simply not enough people to monitor all the cameras. Every shop had one, every bus and train and theatre and public convenience, every street and road and alleyway. Computers with facial recognition and gait recognition and body language recognition could do some of the job, but they were relatively simple to fool, expensive, and times had been hard for decades. It was cheaper to get people to watch the screens. But no nation on Earth had a security service large enough, a police force big enough, to keep an eye on all those live feeds. So it was contracted out. To private security firms all trying to undercut each other. The big stores had their own security men, but they were only interested in people going in and out of the store, not someone just passing by. So instead of a single all-seeing eye London’s seemingly-impregnable surveillance map was actually a patchwork of little territories and jurisdictions, and while they all had, by law, to make their footage available to the forces of law and order, many of the control rooms were actually manned by bored, underpaid, undertrained and badly-motivated immigrants.

I know their asses are probably drinking away their lives in college. And probably TikToking or some shit.

Half of this year has been me trying to stop picturing you every time I jack off, and I was on the verge of avoiding all family parties so I didn’t have to see how hot you look every time I show up. I swear you imagine fucking me every time you look at me too, little girl. Do you? Tell me I’m not crazy.

This is how it’s supposed to feel. Like you were empty without me, like you were missing a piece of you and I just found the missing part.

Remember, when you come this hard and get this wet, it means you’re getting fucked right. Remember not to ever settle, Lilah.

Their right to freedom of religion or belief (FoRB) is under sustained attack and continues fracturing beyond repair. What makes it even more poignant is that the collapse of religious freedom is so real yet has been left undiagnosed.

When things no longer meet our expectations and our identity feels undermined, and we fail to restore the tears and fractures, we can indeed keep on tinkering in our corner and living in denial, or we can make the big leap into the unknown and immerge into the well of our unspoken will power, and give trust to our inner second self. ("The freedom of new thinking")

For a society to fracture along identity lines, you need mouthpieces - people who are willing to make discriminatory appeals and pursue discriminatory policies in the name of a particular group. They are usually people who are seeking political office or trying to stay in office. They provoke and harness feelings of fear as a way to lock in the constituencies that will support their scramble for power. Experts have a term for these individuals: ethnic entrepreneurs. [...] Though the catalyst for conflict is often ostensibly something else - the economy, immigration, freedom of religion - ethnic entrepreneurs make the fight expressly about their group's position and status in society. Harnessing the power of the media, which they often control, they work to convince citizens that they are under threat from an out-group and must band together under the entrepreneur to counter the threat.

To all the good girls who know they’re going to Heaven … But want to feel the heat of Hell first.

Where Fromm saw the ‘primary ties’ as the continuation of an infantile dependency of the individual, Jung saw in the infant the presence of all the instincts and experiences of his ancestors over millennia, from where potentialities arise. This is not something from which to be dissociated, but to be integrated into the total personality; the process of individuation in the Jungian sense. Here is the difference between Jung’s individuation, and that of the Critical Theorists. The first means integration, the second means fracture. The meaning of Critical Theory is to facture: the individual and society in the name of an unbound freedom.

Western Texas was just such a project: a grandiose scheme, germinated in secret, and unlikely to bear fruit for years. As laid out in private correspondence with Adolf Douai and other co-conspirators in Texas, the plan called for the "immigration of one or two thousand staunch and steadfast northern men, supporters of Freedom." These infiltrators should come quietly and in small groups at first, forming a "nucleus" in alliance with free- state Germans. Thereafter, migrants from the North and Europe would "pour in," aided by new railroad lines. Olmsted kept refining and expanding on this plan, long after his return from Texas. It became, in effect, a dry run for his career as a landscape architect, including blueprints for a string of planned communities across the frontier of the Cotton Kingdom. "I have a private grand political hobby which I must display to you," he disclosed to a Northern ally, in a letter filled with geometric shapes, lines, and arrows. The sketch was nothing less than a sweeping design for winning what Olmsted called the "war between the power of Slavery and of Freedom on this continent.

Silence was either your enemy or your friend. It calmed you or left you alone with the worst of your thoughts.

But that ideal, put forward in the Declaration of Independence and pursued ever since in a variety of ways by Americans of all races, religions, and political persuasions, is most accessible when we allow the mediating layers of our culture and society to flourish. It is not a vision of radical individualism or of consolidated statism. It is a vision of the free society rooted in an understanding of liberty that depends upon our institutions of moral formation and on the kind of person they produce—the citizen fit for virtuous freedom. It is an ideal rooted in natural rights but put into practice by free men and women who are not merely natural but also social achievements. American citizenship is not simply the application of that shared ideal, of course.

It is a vision of the free society rooted in an understanding of liberty that depends upon our institutions of moral formation and on the kind of person they produce—the citizen fit for virtuous freedom.

How can we make the most of the opportunities afforded by the dynamism and the freedom set loose by America’s postwar diffusion while mitigating its costs and burdens, especially for the most vulnerable among us? In

there has been less social pressure on loosely committed or uncommitted Americans even to pay lip service to traditional views or communities and a greater sense of freedom to express more lax views, or no views at all, on key moral questions. The

I’d give anything to give her the world, and instead, she now sees me as the enemy. I’d promised her freedom; instead, I took her choices away.

The reminder that my freedom was stolen from me and I all I could do at best—was survive.

I’ll wait forever for a baby with you, or we’ll be happy without one.

He asked, “What are you reading?” “Would you believe me if I said a self-help book?” It was a lie. My kindle was filled with hot men on covers and spice so hot that I was sure my face was on fire.

Do not understand only the words; also understand their contexts since they illuminate you precisely. If you vote wisely, you won’t have to fight for your rights and peace everywhere. The political mafia is the mother of all mafias and often causes wars and uses vetoes to disrupt global peace. My every minute of life is for the entire humanity and human rights; it is a core prayer of all my prayers. What is a mafia, how do you understand it, and when do you overcome it? It is neither easy nor difficult; just be brave for your rights and never ignore them. No one can stand in front of your rights if you truly believe that. I have described the context of the mafia in the form of quotations that may guide and enlighten your life journey honourably. When a nation faces the Mafia Judiciary, which employs and applies an unfair way that fractures justice, the criminal mafia groups become licensed, and freehand is a juristic disaster. Wherever the medical, trade, business, media, and political interests of the mafia prevail, there is certainly neither a cure nor freedom possible nor justice nor peace. A vote holds not only significant power; it also carries a key to a system, essence to the welfare, surety to the career of a future generation, and a magnet to the stability of the state. The wrong choice or emotional pledge and favor of the vote-casting can indeed victimize a voter himself as a consequence. Realize this power and use it wisely, disregarding all external influences and tricks. Such a political party remains the proprietorship of a particular family, a rich circle, a corrupt mafia, or an establishment that accomplishes neither transparent democratic legitimacy nor fair democracy. Undoubtedly, such a party enforces majority dictatorship when it comes to power. It is mendacious dishonesty and severe corruption in a precise democratic voting context. I have been critical of the undemocratic rule, but now I think it may be the option of neutral law, but not martial law, which is essential for the stability and unity of Pakistan’s state, constitution, economy, and institutions to eliminate the democratic mafia and terror. International intelligence agencies and their hired ones avoid the weapons now; however, they utilize deadly chemicals to kill their rivals, whether high-level or low-level, whereas doctors diagnose that as a natural death. Virtually becoming infected and a victim of deathly diseases through chemicals is neither known publicly nor common. As a fact, the intelligence mafia can achieve and gain every task for their interests.

What is the matter with this world? From Afghanistan to India and Pakistan to Myanmar, we have witnessed the testimonies of tainted religious freedom, endangered democratic norms, and fractured human rights values.

In some cases of Trauma with a big T, the fractures can be so severe that the child grows up living in a constant state of fear.

Government surveillance, beyond its legal implications, wreaks havoc on the emotional landscape of individuals, transforming the very essence of personal freedom into a monitored spectacle. The damage inflicted is not confined to the erosion of privacy; it extends into the realm of trust, fracturing the delicate covenant between citizens and their government. The emotional toll of constant surveillance is immeasurable, creating a pervasive culture of anxiety and self-censorship as individuals grapple with the knowledge that their every move is being scrutinized. Historical instances of surveillance excesses, from the Stasi to contemporary controversies, underscore the urgency of recognizing the unlawfulness of such practices and the imperative to reclaim our right to privacy for the sake of our collective well-being.

King had marched six weeks earlier through the Mississippi town where the civil rights workers Goodman, Chaney, and Schwerner were murdered. He had called it the most savage place he had ever seen. Now he revised his opinion: 'I think the people of Mississippi ought to come to Chicago to learn how to hate.

There’s no page for you, Delilah. You have to go home, where it’s safe.” I shook my head. “I don’t want safe!” How could I tell him that my mental health had been in the gutter, that maintaining a 4.0 in college was exhausting, and even when I tried to make friends, that fell flat? That I’d never quite found myself because I was too tired and sad to do anything other than get through each day. That when I’d date, I could not find one man who’d live up to the expectations I’d set for them, or maybe the ones Dante had set for me.

Strong enough?” The question bellowed out of me. The word still tasted like rancid filth in my mouth. “Strong enough? I could barely open my eyes in the morning, let alone get out of bed back in college. I wanted to die.

And who knew depression is like a drug, too? It eats away at your happiness, it makes you not the person you want to be, and it guilts you into thinking you can never resurface from it. God, the guilt. And the fear that I’ll fall back into it.

but I’m so scared of falling back into depression that I’m avoiding anything that will even make me happy.

I had all the women in the world, but the one I wanted was off-limits, and that just made me want to cross the line even more.

It gets better. And worse. And I think you can live with it like maybe I’m living with it. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, except we’ll have more scars, right? And that’s not such a bad thing.

Look at me, Lamb. If I don’t see your pretty eyes, you don’t see stars.

I think I’d have fun chasing you around the world.

Were you imagining me sliding my cock into this pretty pink pussy, Lamb?

if happiness only existed when it was shared, what happened when the person you shared it with had to go? What happened if you couldn’t give them what they wanted? Or if you couldn’t make what you wanted together?

I love that you love me at my worst but enjoy me at my best, and I love that I can sometimes catch a glimpse of the worst in you, even if you’ve practically found a way to control every part of you and the world. We might be living through a hard part of life together right now, but I’m an overachiever, so we’re going to get to easy if it’s the last thing I do.

She might have been screaming heaven like I’d delivered her there, but she didn’t know she was heaven. She was my heaven wrapped up in a tiny lamb.

Months later, Falwell was distributing $25 audio tapes of North’s commencement address, his “Freedom Message.” In a fundraising letter sent to supporters, Falwell framed what was at issue: “In my judgment, petty partisan politics have made Ollie North, his family and the very lives of the Nicaraguan freedom fighters pawns in a liberal campaign to humiliate President Reagan.” Critics accused leaders like Falwell of exploiting North in order to reap a “financial bonanza” in their direct-mail campaigns. Falwell’s spokesperson refused to say how much his campaign had brought in, but he wasn’t the only one cashing in on North. Beverly LaHaye’s Concerned Women for America offered a “beautiful full-color picture” of North being sworn in at the Iran-Contra hearings for a mere $20 contribution. Other conservative evangelical organizations also participated in the “Olliemania.” For American evangelicals, Ollie North was the perfect hero at the perfect time.4

Learn how to grieve fractured relationships, and then learn how to let them go. Don’t let disappointment morph into self-doubt and self-flagellation. Just because you wish something wasn’t a certain way doesn’t mean it’s your fault that it’s not.

Emotion and intellect, matter and spirit, body and soul, One and Many, male and female, human and divine, freedom and necessity - all the contradictions of our fractured existence are most marvelously woven together in the wedding of soul and spirit, which preserves our twofoldness right into the heart of the One.

It’s in learning to become aware of God’s presence in our pain that the scales are tipped toward freedom.