Liberty Bell Quotes

No animal has more liberty than the cat, but it buries the mess it makes. The cat is the best anarchist.

What swells inside me is a love so boundless, I am the sunrise and sunset. I am Liberty Bell in the Cascades. I am Beihai Lake. I am every beautiful, truly beautiful, thing I've ever seen, captured in my personal Geographia, the atlas of myself.

The "right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness" begins with "life", and "life" begins at conception.

It sounded like walls tumbling, liberty bells chiming, government buildings being stormed. It sounded like a revolution. It sounded like hope.

Philadelphia Your liberty Bell still rings. Freedom, from Philadelphia Still rings. Freedom rings.... Liberty Rings. This is the heart of the USA, The point where our heart Incarnated. Men gathered here To sign three sacred contracts: First, The Declaration of Independence, Then, the Constitution and Bill of Rights. And they said to the world "By God, Let Freedom Ring.

Je crois encore au merveilleux en amour, je crois à la réalité des rêves, je crois aux héroïnes de la nuit, aux belles de nuit pénétrant dans les coeurs et dans les lits.

E Pluribus Unum The United States of America (USA) Is a meeting place For peoples of varied backgrounds. And from the Great Plains of Nebraska and Wyoming To Maryland's Eastern Shore. From the Great Lakes adjacent Minnesota, To the Everglades of Southern Florida. We are one. From the corals Off of California's coasts. To the mountains Of the Shenandoah, in Virginia. We are one. From the steel and concrete towers Of New York City To Liberty Bell In Pennsylvania. We are One. Out of many: A single, We've become. Out of many: A single; We are one. As the many stones that make the Obelisk In Washington, Many individuals Make the United States Of America. And the best of all the world Is here with us.

There was something melancholic about that symbol of their nation's promise of freedom, a bell with a chipped mouth and cleft body.

Your voice is so fucking beautiful, Liberty Bell. Like sex on Sunday.

And did you know the liberty bell is a replica, silently housed in its original walls?

I love thee as I love all that we have fought for. I love thee as I love liberty and dignity and the rights of all men to work and not be hungry. I love thee as I love Madrid that we have defended and as I love all my comrades that have died. And many have died. Many. Many. Thou canst not think how many. But I love thee as I love what I love most in the world and I love thee more.

Liberty On my notebooks from school On my desk and the trees On the sand, on the snow I write your name On every page read On all the white sheets Stone blood paper or ash I write your name On the golden images On the soldier’s weapons On the crowns of kings I write your name On the jungle, the desert The nests and the bushes On the echo of childhood I write your name On the wonder of nights On the white bread of days On the seasons engaged I write your name On all my blue rags On the pond mildewed sun On the lake living moon I write your name On the fields, the horizon The wings of the birds On the windmill of shadows I write your name On the foam of the clouds On the sweat of the storm On dark insipid rain I write your name On the glittering forms On the bells of colour On physical truth I write your name On the wakened paths On the opened ways On the scattered places I write your name On the lamp that gives light On the lamp that is drowned On my house reunited I write your name On the bisected fruit Of my mirror and room On my bed’s empty shell I write your name On my dog greedy tender On his listening ears On his awkward paws I write your name On the sill of my door On familiar things On the fire’s sacred stream I write your name On all flesh that’s in tune On the brows of my friends On each hand that extends I write your name On the glass of surprises On lips that attend High over the silence I write your name On my ravaged refuges On my fallen lighthouses On the walls of my boredom I write your name On passionless absence On naked solitude On the marches of death I write your name On health that’s regained On danger that’s past On hope without memories I write your name By the power of the word I regain my life I was born to know you And to name you LIBERTY

On its final page, the noted painter Arnold Friberg depicted Moses, his arms outstretched, with the Liberty Bell ringing behind him. Across the top of the page ran the same passage from Leviticus used earlier by Spiritual Mobilization: “Proclaim Liberty Throughout All the Land, unto All the Inhabitants Thereof.

Maybe the [liberty] bell didn’t crack because of the weight of hypocrisy. Perhaps it couldn’t bear the tension between what America is supposed to be and what it is.

The Fitzpatricks have enough fuck-you money to build a dick-shaped statue the size of Lady Liberty.

There I sat, in that great city, guiltless of crime, yet not daring to worship God in any of the churches. I heard the bells ringing for afternoon service, and, with contemptuous sarcasm, I said, "Will the preachers take for their text, 'Proclaim liberty to the captive, and the opening of prison doors to them that are bound'? or will they preach from the text, 'Do unto others as ye would they should do unto you'?

I’m from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,” Sistine said, “home of the Liberty Bell, and I hate the South because the people in it are ignorant. And I’m not staying here in Lister. My father is coming to get me next week.” She looked around the room defiantly. “Well,” said Mrs. Soames, “thank you very much for introducing yourself, Sistine Bailey. You may take your seat before you put your foot in your mouth any farther.” The

People where I live are born in cradles, then grow up in boxes, then die in coffins. From cradle to coffin--they exist in boxes. And they wish that I join them, sometimes they try, but then I bite their fingers off.

Economics is the art of allocating scarce goods among competing demands. The conceit of Marxism was the thought that in Communism, economics would be "abolished"; this was why one did not have to think about the questions of relative privilege and social justice. But the point is that we still have to think about economics, and probably always will. The question, then, is whether we can arrive at a set of normative rules which seek to protect liberty, reward achievement and enhance the social good, within the constraints of "economics".

In some odd gush of patriotism, my mother had once vomited on the Liberty Bell, the Statue of Liberty, and a bust of Benjamin Franklin in a single summer, aborting our vacation and causing my father to swear off historical sites until the day he died.

So it fell to Lil to make sure that there were no bugs in the meager attractions of Liberty Square: the Hall of the Presidents, the Liberty Belle riverboat, and the glorious Haunted Mansion, arguably the coolest attraction to come from the fevered minds of the old-time Disney Imagineers.

There I sat, in that great city, guiltless of crime, yet not daring to worship God in any of the churches. I heard the bells ringing for afternoon service, and, with contemptuous sarcasm, I said, "Will the preachers take for their text, 'Proclaim liberty to the captive, and the opening of prison doors to them that are bound'? or will they preach from the text, 'Do unto others as ye would they should do unto you'?" Oppressed Poles and Hungarians could find a safe refuge in that city; John Mitchell was free to proclaim in the City Hall his desire for "a plantation well stocked with slaves;" but there I sat, an oppressed American, not daring to show my face. God forgive the black and bitter thoughts I indulged on that Sabbath day! The Scripture says, "Oppression makes even a wise man mad;" and I was not wise.

Those who believe themselves free because they dominate others define freedom negatively, as the absence of government, because only a government could emancipate the slaves or enfranchise the women. The conflation of a Liberty Bell with the American Revolution dodges the issue of what freedom is, and for whom that bell tolls.

Far from merely being a larger England, the United States had become something quite different: an incubator of lost or diluted British freedoms. As the Liberty Bell was originally cast in England but rang out in America, so those guarantees of the 'rights, liberties, and immunities of free and natural-born subjects' have found their truest expression across the Atlantic. 'That rifle on the wall of the labourer’s cottage or working class flat is the symbol of democracy,' wrote George Orwell in 1941. 'It is our job to see that it stays there.' In Britain and beyond, that rifle has long been taken away. England’s bell has fallen silent. Americans would do well to ensure that the crack in theirs grows no larger.

There's more to Philadelphia than Cheesesteaks and Wawa Hoagies, Here is a list of 1 places you will love in Philadelphia: The Betsy Ross House Reading Terminal Market Boat House Row/Kelly Drive National Constitution Center Delaware River waterfront The Liberty Bell Benjamin Franklin Parkway Franklin Institute Philadelphia Museum of Art City Hall and it's Observation deck

I was weary of flying from pillar to post. I had been chased during half my life, and it seemed as if the chase was never to end. There I sat, in that great city, guiltless of crime, yet not daring to worship God in any of the churches. I heard the bells ringing for afternoon service, and, with contemptuous sarcasm, I said, "Will the preachers take for their text, 'Proclaim liberty to the captive, and the opening of prison doors to them that are bound'? or will they preach from the text, 'Do unto others as ye would they should do unto you'?" Oppressed Poles and Hungarians could find a safe refuge in that city; John Mitchell was free to proclaim in the City Hall his desire for "a plantation well stocked with slaves"; but there I sat, an oppressed American, not daring to show my face.

So hopeless is the world without; The world within I doubly prize; Thy world, where guile, and hate, and doubt, And cold suspicion never rise; Where thou, and I, and Liberty, Have undisputed sovereignty.

Elle tourna vers moi les yeux à cet instant, mais je n'ose y croire, ce regard fut-il un aveu. Ne me dites pas qu'elle est belle, elle est émouvante. Sa vue imprime à mon coeur un mouvement plus rapide, son absence emplit mon esprit.

Nowadays, men wear a fool's-cap, and call it a liberty-cap. I do not know but there are some who, if they were tied to a whipping-post, and could but get one hand free, would use it to ring the bells and fire the cannons to celebrate THEIR liberty. So some of my townsmen took the liberty to ring and fire. That was the extent of their freedom; and when the sound of the bells died away, their liberty died away also; when the powder was all expended, their liberty went off with the smoke.

If you are free, you're going to scare them. In the same way light scares bats or how a chained animal grown so accustomed to its cage, would refuse an opened fence. That's how you'll scare them: with an open mind, a brave voice, the stare of a bear! You'll scare them every time you belly-laugh and every time you look a man eye-to-eye as an equal. You'll scare them when they see your thighs and when you choose your own religion. You'll scare them. Because it's birds who fly free that terrify the ones in cages.

Your gender may not help to make me feel comfortable; but I will absolutely defend your right to live in a way that doesn't require you to make me feel comfortable. Your skin colour may not be my skin colour; but I will absolutely defend your right to live in your own skin just as much as I live in mine. Your religion or absence of any religion may not align with my own beliefs; but I will absolutely defend your right to believe in anything or nothing at all. Since I'm a human too, I will defend your birthright to be the kind of human that you are.

influences. I took from Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls that defending the dignity of others is never a lost cause whether you succeed or not. And I thrill to the exhortation in the poem that inspired the novel, to be “part of the main,” to be “involved in mankind.” It’s who we are. The right to life and liberty, to be governed by consent and ruled by laws, to have equal justice and protection of property, these values are the core of our national identity. And it is fidelity to them—not ethnicity or religion, culture or class—that makes one an American. To accept the abolition or abridgement of those rights in other societies should be no less false to Americans than their abridgment in our own society. Human rights are not our invention. They don’t represent standards from which particular cultures or religions can be exempted. They are universal. They exist above the state and beyond history. They cannot be rescinded by one government any more than they can be granted by another. That’s our creed. The authors put it right at the beginning of the manifesto they wrote to declare our independence. “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights.

while a man should attend closely to life, he should not attend too closely to the clock. A student of both the Stoics and Montaigne, the Count’s father believed that our Creator had set aside the morning hours for industry. That is, if a man woke no later than six, engaged in a light repast, and then applied himself without interruption, by the hour of noon he should have accomplished a full day’s labor. Thus, in his father’s view, the toll of twelve was a moment of reckoning. When the noon bell sounded, the diligent man could take pride in having made good use of the morning and sit down to his lunch with a clear conscience. But when it sounded for the frivolous man—the man who had squandered his morning in bed, or on breakfast with three papers, or on idle chatter in the sitting room—he had no choice but to ask for his Lord’s forgiveness. In the afternoon, the Count’s father believed that a man should take care not to live by the watch in his waistcoat—marking the minutes as if the events of one’s life were stations on a railway line. Rather, having been suitably industrious before lunch, he should spend his afternoon in wise liberty. That is, he should walk among the willows, read a timeless text, converse with a friend beneath the pergola, or reflect before the fire—engaging in those endeavors that have no appointed hour, and that dictate their own beginnings and ends.

Humans make boxes, put themselves into those boxes, then pull other people in along with them. Everything I do and everything that I am, are the results of climbing out of their boxes and then not allowing myself to be pulled into new ones. Because once you are freed from one, there is always another, and yet another, box that some human will try to pull you into. Especially in the society which I live: a giant box filled with a hundred million tiny boxes, all trying to trap you inside them. And some will tell you that God is in their box with them! Bloody hell of a lie. God cannot be found inside of their cubicles.

Bells Screamed all off key, wrangling together as they collided in midair, horns and whistles mingled shrilly with cries of human distress; sulphur-colored light ex-ploded through the black windowpane and flashed away in darkness. Miranda waking from a dreamless sleep asked without expecting an answer, “What is happening?” for there was a bustle of voices and footsteps in the corridor, and a sharpness in the air; the far clamour went on, a furious exasperated shrieking like a mob in revolt. The light came on, and Miss Tanner said in a furry voice, “Hear that? They’re celebrating . It’s the Armistice. The war is over, my dear.” Her hands trembled. She rattled a spoon in a cup, stopped to listen, held the cup out to Miranda. From the ward for old bedridden women down the hall floated a ragged chorus of cracked voices singing, “My country, ’tis of thee…” Sweet land… oh terrible land of this bitter world where the sound of rejoicing was a clamour of pain, where ragged tuneless old women, sitting up waiting for their evening bowl of cocoa, were singing, “Sweet land of Liberty-” “Oh, say, can you see?” their hopeless voices were asking next, the hammer strokes of metal tongues drowning them out. “The war is over,” said Miss Tanner, her underlap held firmly, her eyes blurred. Miranda said, “Please open the window, please, I smell death in here.

Dr. Syngmann: But someone must have made it all. Don't you think so, John? Pastor Jón: Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and so on, said the late pastor Lens. Dr. Syngmann: Listen, John, how is it possible to love God? And what reason is there for doing so? To love, is that not the prelude to sleeping together, something connected with the genitals, at its best a marital tragedy among apes? It would be ridiculous. People are fond of their children, all right, but if someone said he was fond of God, wouldn't that be blasphemy? Pastor Jón once again utters that strange word 'it' and says: I accept it. Dr. Syngmann: What do you mean when you say you accept God? Did you consent to his creating the world? Do you think the world as good as all that, or something? This world! Or are you all that pleased with yourself? Pastor Jón: Have you noticed that the ewe that was bleating outside the window is now quiet? She has found her lamb. And I believe that the calf here in the homefield will pull through. Dr. Syngmann: I know as well as you do, John, that animals are perfect within their limits and that man is the lowest rung in the reverse-evolution of earthly life: one need only compare the pictures of an emperor and a dog to see that, or a farmer and the horse he rides. But I for my part refuse to accept it. Pastor Jón Prímus: To refuse to accept it - what is meant by that? Suicide or something? Dr. Syngmann: At this moment, when the alignment with a higher humanity is at hand, a chapter is at last beginning that can be taken seriously in the history of the earth. Epagogics provide the arguments to prove to the Creator that life is an entirely meaningless gimmick unless it is eternal. Pastor Jón: Who is to bell the cat? Dr. Syngmann: As regards epagogics, it is pleading a completely logical case. In six volumes I have proved my thesis with incontrovertible arguments; even juridically. But obviously it isn't enough to use cold reasoning. I take the liberty of appealing to this gifted Maker's honour. I ask Him - how could it ever occur to you to hand over the earth to demons? The only ideal over which demons can unite is to have a war. Why did you permit the demons of the earth to profess their love to you in services and prayers as if you were their God? Will you let honest men call you demiurge, you, the Creator of the world? Whose defeat is it, now that the demons of the earth have acquired a machine to wipe out all life? Whose defeat is it if you let life on earth die on your hands? Can the Maker of the heavens stoop so low as to let German philosophers give Him orders what to do? And finally - I am a creature you have created. And that's why I am here, just like you. Who has given you the right to wipe me out? Is justice ridiculous in your eyes? Cards on the table! (He mumbles to himself.) You are at least under an obligation to resurrect me!

The area housed many successful medium-sized businesses, such as the Whitechapel Bell Foundry, founded in 1570 (and Britain’s oldest continual manufacturer). By the eighteenth century, the foundry was exporting bells to the Americas, including the Liberty Bell, in 1752. The Liberty Bell left England bearing a biblical inscription which would have been familiar to both the French Protestants who had sought refuge only a stone’s throw away, and also the Jews who worshipped close by. It came from the book of Leviticus 25: 10: ‘Proclaim LIBERTY throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof.

But, in special, we detest and refuse the usurped authority of that Roman Antichrist upon the Scriptures of God, upon the Kirk, the civil magistrate, and consciences of men; all his tyrannous laws made upon indifferent things against our Christian liberty; his erroneous doctrine against the sufficiency of the written Word, the perfection of the law, the office of Christ, and His blessed evangel; his corrupted doctrine concerning original sin, our natural inability and rebellion to God's law, our justification by faith only, our imperfect sanctification and obedience to the law; the nature, number, and use of the holy sacraments; his five bastard sacraments, with all his rites, ceremonies, and false doctrine, added to the ministration of the true sacraments without the word of God; his cruel judgment against infants departing without the sacrament; his absolute necessity of baptism; his blasphemous opinion of transubstantiation, or real presence of Christ's body in the elements, and receiving of the same by the wicked, or bodies of men; his dispensations with solemn oaths, perjuries, and degrees of marriage forbidden in the Word; his cruelty against the innocent divorced; his devilish mass; his blasphemous priesthood; his profane sacrifice for sins of the dead and the quick; his canonization of men; calling upon angels or saints departed, worshipping of imagery, relics, and crosses; dedicating of kirks, altars, days; vows to creatures; his purgatory, prayers for the dead; praying or speaking in a strange language, with his processions, and blasphemous litany, and multitude of advocates or mediators; his manifold orders, auricular confession; his desperate and uncertain repentance; his general and doubtsome faith; his satisfactions of men for their sins; his justification by works, opus operatum, works of supererogation, merits, pardons, peregrinations, and stations; his holy water, baptizing of bells, conjuring of spirits, crossing, sayning, anointing, conjuring, hallowing of God's good creatures, with the superstitious opinion joined therewith; his worldly monarchy, and wicked hierarchy; his three solemn vows, with all his shavellings of sundry sorts; his erroneous and bloody decrees made at Trent, with all the subscribers or approvers of that cruel and bloody band, conjured against the Kirk of God. And finally, we detest all his vain allegories, rites, signs, and traditions brought in the Kirk, without or against the word of God, and doctrine of this true reformed Kirk; to the which we join ourselves willingly, in doctrine, faith, religion, discipline, and use of the holy sacraments, as lively members of the same in Christ our head: promising and swearing, by the great name of the LORD our GOD, that we shall continue in the obedience of the doctrine and discipline of this Kirk, and shall defend the same, according to our vocation and power, all the days of our lives; under the pains contained in the law, and danger both of body and soul in the day of God's fearful judgment.

What’s inside the Liberty Bell?” she asked him. “Well, it had better be empty,” he told the kids. “Are you absolutely sure?” Christina asked. “I noticed that it’s more than two feet off the ground. I could imagine a little boy—about my brother’s size—sneaking under the velvet rope and leaving a wad of bubble gum inside.” “Oh you can, can you?” said the ranger. He turned and glared at Grant. “Did you put gum in the Liberty Bell, young man?

employment,

The King James Bible, which most Pennsylvanians would have been using, describes the central moment as an act of economic liberation: “Ye shall hallow the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof: it shall be a jubilee unto you; and ye shall return every man unto his possession, and ye shall return every man unto his family.” But there’s a problem with this translation. The Hebrew word deror, which the King James renders as liberty, is more precisely translated as release. Modern Bibles usually translate Leviticus 25:10 as “You shall proclaim release throughout the land,” stressing that the liberation is a freeing from economic duress, not political servitude. Considering all that would befall Isaac Norris’s bell, the one misfortune that proved most beneficial was preventing America’s treasured icon from being called … the Release Bell.

Every breath we take from the air Takes oxygen from an insect’s lungs mid-prayer And every exhalation does loudly declare That in the currency of life, we’re millionaires. A butterfly flapped it’s wings and Rome fell A passerby’s whistle cracked the liberty bell And I dare urge the daring not to yell Lest we so bid a skyscraper a rough farewell. A snake’s tongue slithered and man did sin Let me tell you how the waves from a shark’s fin Did set the tides on D-Day and let the allies win; Chance and destiny are identical twins. A word was spoken and the earth created Another phrase and the future was dictated And so every action must be carefully weighted We just never know how things are interrelated.

That was all I really ever wanted to do – go to America. To go with a rock band would be a dream come true – with bells on. Liberty Bells.

As a self-confessed Pre-Raphaelite - a term that by the 1880s was interchangeable with ‘Aesthete’ - Constance was carrying a torch whose flame had ben lit in the 1850s by a group of women associated with the founding Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood painters. Women such as Elizabeth Siddal and Jane Morris, the wives respectively of the painter Dante Gabriel Rossetti and the poet, designer and socialist William Morris, had modelled for the Pre-Raphaelite artists, wearing loose, flowing gowns. But it was not just their depiction on canvas that sparked a new fashion among an intellectual elite. Off canvas these women also establised new liberties for women that some twenty years later were still only just being taken up by a wider female population. They pioneered new kinds of dresses, with sleeves either sewn on at the shoulder, rather than below it, or puffed and loose. While the rest of the female Victorian populace had to go about with their arms pinned to their bodies in tight, unmoving sheaths, the Pre-Raphaelite women could move their arms freely, to paint or pose or simply be comfortable. The Pre-Raphaelite girls also did away with the huge, bell-shaped crinoline skirts, held out by hoops and cages strapped on to the female undercarriage. They dispensed with tight corsets that pinched waists into hourglasses, as well as the bonnets and intricate hairstyles that added layer upon layer to a lady’s daily toilette. Their ‘Aesthetic’ dress, as it became known, was more than just a fashion; it was a statement. In seeking comfort for women it also spoke of a desire for liberation that went beyond physical ease. It was also a statement about female creative expression, which in itself was aligned to broader feminist issues. The original Pre-Raphaelite sisterhood lived unconventionally with artists, worked at their own artistic projects and became famous in the process. Those women who were Aesthetic dress in their wake tended to believe that women should have the right to a career and ultimately be enfranchised with the vote. […] And so Constance, with ‘her ugly dresses’, her schooling and her college friends, was already in some small degree a young woman going her own way. Moving away from the middle-class conventions of the past, where women were schooled by governesses at home, would dress in a particular manner and be chaperoned, Constance was already modern.

Upon reflection, Henry found it difficult to disagree with Horace Greeley, editor of the New York Tribune and frequent critic of the Lincoln administration, when he complained that the president had emancipated slaves where the Union could not free them and had kept them enslaved in places where the Union did enjoy the power to give them liberty.

A student of both the Stoics and Montaigne, the Count’s father believed that our Creator had set aside the morning hours for industry. That is, if a man woke no later than six, engaged in a light repast, and then applied himself without interruption, by the hour of noon he should have accomplished a full day’s labor. Thus, in his father’s view, the toll of twelve was a moment of reckoning. When the noon bell sounded, the diligent man could take pride in having made good use of the morning and sit down to his lunch with a clear conscience. But when it sounded for the frivolous man—the man who had squandered his morning in bed, or on breakfast with three papers, or on idle chatter in the sitting room—he had no choice but to ask for his Lord’s forgiveness. In the afternoon, the Count’s father believed that a man should take care not to live by the watch in his waistcoat—marking the minutes as if the events of one’s life were stations on a railway line. Rather, having been suitably industrious before lunch, he should spend his afternoon in wise liberty. That is, he should walk among the willows, read a timeless text, converse with a friend beneath the pergola, or reflect before the fire—engaging in those endeavors that have no appointed hour, and that dictate their own beginnings and ends. And the second chime?

Savaş, en azından başlangıçta, başkalarını ilgilendiren bir şeydi. Biz, ben, ailem ve dostlarımız tribünlerdeydik deyim yerindeyse; epey de heyecanlıydık. Nasıl ki savaş hep başkasını ilgilendirirse, ölen de hep başkasıdır. Fakat gel gör ki, bu da doğru çıkmadı! O feci telgraflar sinsi sinsi, kederli kederli gelmeye başladı, herkesin kardeşiydi ölen. Biz burada öfkeden ve patırtıdan on bin kilometre uzaktaydık, ama bu bizi kurtarmıyordu. Sonrası pek eğlenceli değildi. Liberty Belles kızları beyaz kepler ve beyaz parlak üniformalarla geçit töreni yapıyorlardı, tamam. Dayımız 4 Temmuz konuşmasını baştan yazıp tahvil satmakta kullanıyordu, tamam. Biz lisede hakiler giyinip asker kepi takıyor, fizik hocasından silah kullanmayı öğreniyorduk, tamam ama Allah aşkına, Marty Hopps ölmüştü; sokağın karşı tarafında oturan Berges'lerin oğlu, küçük kız kardeşimizin üç yaşından beri âşık olduğu yakışıklı çocuk paramparça olmuştu!

Strangers think Jus and me are twins, because we’re both cursed with messy red hair and a truckload of freckles, not to mention we’re both thirteen. But his real twin is his sister Liberty, even though she looks nothing like him, being a blond and, well…a girl. Liberty sauntered in, joining Justice and me in the kitchen. She slouched against the counter and tossed her baseball from hand to hand. Baseball was to Liberty like oxygen was to the rest of us. “That dumb ol’ skeleton is all people have on their brains this morning.” “You’re just mad the police won’t let you on the baseball field,” Justice said. Liberty spit into the trash can. She was a southern belle. Minus the belle part. She also ran faster and slugged harder than anyone else in Windy Bottom. “It’s probably just some soldier left over from the Civil War.” Justice tied on an apron and grabbed a tub filled with dirty dishes. “Nuh-uh. Dad said there wasn’t hardly any war fought in this part of Georgia.” Liberty rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t mean there was nothing. Maybe he crawled home to die.” “Come on, Lib,” I said, tossing her an apron. “We all got kitchen duty—not just Justice and me.

Don’t let life rob you of hope just because it’s kicked you in the balls a few times.” She pauses. “Metaphorically speaking, of course. I wasn’t insinuating I think you have testicles.” “Oh, but I do,” I say with a straight face. “Big steel testicles that clang when I walk.” “I was wondering what that noise was,” Suzanne shoots back. “I thought maybe you had the Liberty Bell stuffed up your vag.

Consider Lochner v. New York,5 where the Court refused to find that the state’s police powers extended to protecting bakery employees against employers who required them to work in physically unhealthy conditions for more than 10 hours per day and 60 hours per week. Such maximum hour legislation, the Court held, would interfere with the bakers’ inherent freedom to make their own contracts with the employers on the best terms they could negotiate…. For blacks, of course, we can compare Lochner with the decision in Plessy v. Ferguson.6 In that case, the Court upheld the state’s police power to segregate blacks in public facilities even though such segregation must, of necessity, interfere with the liberties of facilities’ owners to use their property as they saw fit.

You can fly around the world and dine in a new city every day but still be in a cage. You may stay at home every day, writing poetry in the corners of your walls but be truly free, wild and untamed! The cages we occupy cannot be seen. When your mind is free, you are free.

Parashat Behar sets out a revolutionary template for a society of justice, freedom, and human dignity. At its core is the idea of the Jubilee, whose words (“Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof”) are engraved on one of the great symbols of freedom, the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia.

who is madder: the ‘master’ who claims another man is his property, or the ‘slave’ who seizes his ‘unalienable Right’ to ‘Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness’?

Philadelphia has more to offer than Philadelphia has more to offer than Cheesesteaks and Wawa Hoagies Here’s a list of ten places to visit and you’ll never regret visiting this beautiful city of Brotherly Love. The Betsy Ross House- 239 Arch Streets Reading Terminal Market-12th and Arch Streets Boat House Row/Kelly Drive-1 Boathouse Row National Constitution Center-525 Arch St Delaware River Waterfront-121 N. Columbus Blvd The Liberty Bell-526 Market St Benjamin Franklin Parkway- Franklin Institute-222 N 20th St Philadelphia Museum of Art-2600 Benjamin Franklin Pkwy City Hall and its Observation deck-1400 John F Kennedy Blvd and WaWa Hoagies Here’s a list of ten places to visit and you’ll never regret visiting this beautiful city of Brotherly Love. The Betsy Ross House- 239 Arch Streets Reading Terminal Market-12th and Arch Streets Boat House Row/Kelly Drive-1 Boathouse Row National Constitution Center-525 Arch St Delaware River Waterfront-121 N. Columbus Blvd The Liberty Bell-526 Market St Benjamin Franklin Parkway- Franklin Institute-222 N 20th St Philadelphia Museum of Art-2600 Benjamin Franklin Pkwy City Hall and its Observation deck-1400 John F Kennedy Blvd

Philadelphia has more to offer than Cheesesteaks and WAWA hoagies, Here’s a list of ten places you’ll enjoy while visiting this beautiful city of Brotherly Love. The Betsy Ross House- 239 Arch Streets Reading Terminal Market-12th and Arch Streets Boat House Row/Kelly Drive-1 Boathouse Row National Constitution Center-525 Arch St Delaware River Waterfront-121 N. Columbus Blvd The Liberty Bell-526 Market St Benjamin Franklin Parkway- Franklin Institute-222 N 20th St Philadelphia Museum of Art-2600 Benjamin Franklin Pkwy City Hall and its Observation deck-1400 John F Kennedy Blvd

But it wasn’t our differences that I wanted to focus on. So I parked in one of the visitors’ spots and pulled out the GPS I had taken to carrying in my backpack when I went running. I switched it on so I could pinpoint my coordinates, the longitude and latitude that placed me here and nowhere else in the world. The problem was, inside the car, the device couldn’t locate the satellites, so I unrolled the window, stuck my hand out and held the device to the sun. As soon as it calibrated, I grabbed my notebook from my backpack, ripped out a random page, and wrote my position on the paper. As I folded the sheet in half, I caught sight of my meager notes from the lecture about Fate Maps all those months ago. Genetics might be our first map, imprinted within us from the moment the right sperm meets the right egg. But who knew that all those DNA particles are merely reference points in our own adventures, not dictating our fate but guiding our future? Take Jacob’s cleft lip. If his upper lip had been fused together the way it was supposed to be inside his mother’s belly, he’d probably be living in a village in China right now. Then there was me with my port-wine stain. I lifted my eyes to the rearview mirror, wondering what I would have been like had I never been born with it. My fingers traced the birthmark landlocked on my face, its boundary lines sharing the same shape as Bhutan, the country neighboring Tibetans call the Land of the Dragon. I liked that; the dragons Dad had always cautioned me about had lived on my face all this time. Here be dragons, indeed. I leaned back in my seat now, closing my eyes, relishing the feel of the sun warming my face. No, I wouldn’t trade a single experience — not my dad or my birthmark — to be anyone but me, right here, right now. At last, at 3:10, I open my door. I don’t know how I’ll find Jacob, only that I will. A familiar loping stride ambles out of the library. Not a Goth guy, not a prepster, just Jacob decked in a shirt as unabashedly orange as anything in Elisa’s Beijing boutique. This he wore buttoned to the neck and untucked over jeans, sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned arms. For the first time, I see his aggressively modern glasses, deathly black and rectangular. His hair is the one constant: it’s spiked as usual. What swells inside me is a love so boundless, I am the sunrise and sunset. I am Liberty Bell in the Cascades. I am Beihai Lake. I am every beautiful, truly beautiful, thing I’ve ever seen, captured in my personal Geographia, the atlas of myself.

Amor—God of love,imbued with your consort,Psyche and took me to a panoptical world of opinions,and it was in a night of extravagant freedom,where I could not feel it was a dream in a primordial domain.I sensed as if I was with my darling soul,to whom I had aught of secrets to hide to launch a milky thought in the tapestries alike inner self.

Take, Lord, all my liberty…” He had been following the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius of Loyola. Joseph had recited this prayer so many times, he knew it by heart: “Accept my memory, my understanding, my entire will. Whatsoever I possess Thou hast bestowed; to Thee, I surrender it wholly. Grant me only Thy love and Thy grace—with these I am rich enough and desire nothing more.

It's not the birds flying in the sky who are screaming at the birds in their cages. Birds in cages say, "Look at the birds in the sky, they envy our ornate cages." Then they scream at the birds flying by. But it's the caged birds that scream at the ones in the skies. It's not the other way around. Free birds don't think about cages.

raised to mark German unity. From Schöneberg in West Berlin, the peal of the Freedom Bell was broadcast in the square in front of the Reichstag. A replica of the famous Liberty Bell in Philadelphia, financed in large part by donations from Americans, this bell had hung in Schöneberg’s town hall since October 1950. To this day, it bears the inscription “That this world under God shall have a new birth of freedom,” echoing President Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address in 1863, at the turning point in the American Civil War. The inscription had become reality for us, too. The GDR was history. There was only one German state now.

You don't need to cut out the heart in your chest so other people can breathe. You just need to let them use their lungs. The right of someone to breathe does not detract from your heartbeat. We must not fear the lives that others live. Someone else going to Heaven doesn't mean you're going to Hell. Someone else going to Hell does not mean you're going to burn too. We must not fear the freedom that others have. You don't need to stop breathing so other people can keep their lungs. You just need to let them breathe. Why don't we all put a final end to the limitations that we think we are born into? They're not real. They don't exist.