N Coward Quotes

Cowards live for the sake of living, but for heroes, life is a weapon, a thing to be spent, a gift to be given to the weak and the lost and the weary, even to the foolish and the cowardly.

You pretended to hate him because you were a coward. But you eventually loved him, and he is a part of you now, because you have since grown brave.

Victory does not come to cowards;it comes to the brave ones.

The movies, I thought, have got the soundtrack to war all wrong. War isn't rock 'n' roll. It's got nothing to do with Jimi Hendrix or Richard Wagner. War is nursery rhymes and early Madonna tracks. War is the music from your childhood. Because war, when it's not making you kill or be killed, turns you into an infant. For the past eight days, I'd been living like a five-year-old — a nonexistence of daytime naps, mushy food, and lavatory breaks. My adult life was back in Los Angeles with my dirty dishes and credit card bills.

Woman and children behind the lines!' he yelled, and all the girls jumped. Henry froze with his mouth open. 'Bang the drum slowly and ask not for whom the bell's ringing, for the answer's unfriendly!' He threw a fist in the air. 'Two years have my black ships sat before Troy, and today its gate shall open before the strength of my arm.' Dotty was laughing from the kitchen. Frank looked at his nephew. 'Henry, we play baseball tomorrow. Today we sack cities. Dots! Fetch me my tools! Down with the French! Once more into the breach, and fill the wall with our coward dead! Half a league! Half a league! Hey, batter, batter!' Frank brought his fist down onto the table, spilling Anastasia's milk, and then he struck a pose with both arms above his head and his chin on his chest. The girls cheered and applauded. Aunt Dotty stepped back into the dining room carrying a red metal toolbox.

We must tell stories the way God does, stories in which a sister must float her little brother on a river with nothing but a basket between him and the crocodiles. Stories in which a king is a coward, and a shepherd boy steps forward to face the giant. Stories with fiery serpents and leviathans and sermons in whirlwinds. Stories in which murderers are blinded on donkeys and become heroes. Stories with dens of lions and fiery furnaces and lone prophets laughing at kings and priests and demons. Stories with heads on platters. Stories with courage and crosses and redemption. Stories with resurrections.

Fighting can be like champagne. It can go to the head of a coward as quickly as of a hero. Anyone has the ability to be brave on a battlefield; when you are forced with the choice of: Be brave or... be killed. You may not realize it, but most of us have the chance to be heroes off the battlefield. When we take a stance and find our inner courage, instead of looking the other direction when we encounter evilness or oppression.

She loved old houses and old legends well enough to enjoy them; but was not sufficiently credulous to believe, or cowardly to fear, them.

COWARD, n. One who in a perilous emergency thinks with his legs.

I ran into the house, crumpled the pack of cigarettes and cried to myself. I cried for Ricky. I cried because I felt like such a coward.

Terrorists kill from far, but cowardice is not far. (Les terroristes tuent de loin, - Mais la lâcheté n'est pas loin)

You waver, because you don’t really want to know … but you haven’t been a coward for some years now. So you steel yourself and turn

I am willing to contribute for a grand tombstone for Political Correctness (PC). This mouthplug has made us cowards, afraid to exercise our freedom of expression. It has stifled frank exchange of ideas and has made debates one-sided and pre-concluded. It has given strength to ideas which cannot defend themselves in an open debate. PC may be acceptable in private space but it is diastrous in public space as it makes that public space an oxymoron by making it restricted to only the "acceptable". Democracy is about competitive ideas and PC is undemocratic as it discounts the possibility of a level playing field. All growth of ideas is through cross fertilisation and PC leads to degeneration of ideas by restricting the process to inbreeding. Only those who use weakness as leverage to gain advantage without effort or have an hidden agenda will root for PC. It is the tool of the lazy and the devious. My offer for its tombstone stands.

well i think ...superman knew humans r jealos lot and cannot tolerate his gifts...n to blend in,if he projects himself loser..he b almost invisible to them n can live a happy normal life....weak,coward,unsure isnt his critique bt a mirror hw human race wants themselves to b seen

Noviolence 2.0 (The Sonnet) Nonviolence is not absence of violence, Nonviolence is control over violence. Justice doesn't mean absence of injustice, Justice means absence of indifference. Liberty doesn’t mean total lack of limits, Liberty means to practice self-regulation. Free speech doesn't mean reckless speech, Free speech means speaking for ascension. Order does not mean absence of chaos, Order means presence of accountability. Peace does not mean absence of conflicts, Real peace comes from elimination of bigotry. No more nonchalant nonviolence, it's a coward's way! Awake, arise ‘n humanize, or in tomb the world will lay.

I Am Ukraine (The Sonnet) Peace doesn't come through prayers, Peace comes through responsible action. When the invader stomps on innocent lives, Not choosing a side is a consent to oppression. Ask us for water, we won't let you go unfed, But do not mistake our gentleness as fear. If you so much as lay a finger on our home, We'll defend it with our blood, sweat 'n tears. We ain't no coward to selfishly seek security, When our land is being ransacked by raccoons. When the lives of our loved ones are at stake, We'll break but never bend to oligarchical buffoons. The love of our families is what keeps us breathing. To preserve their smiles, we shall happily die fighting.

If you're going to fight for love, go all the way. Otherwise, don't even start. This could mean losing that love, money, friends, relatives and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean embarrassment. It could mean mockery-- but they are all simply a test of your endurance, of how much you really want it. Her. Him. There are no safety nets in the fight for love. And, you'll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can ever imagine. If you're going to try to fight for love, go all the way. There is no other better feeling than that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will burn with fire. You will ride life like a horse straight down a path of flaming beautiful insanity. It's the only good fight there is left in this world. The fight for love. There are no losers in the fight for love. Only cowards.

Since the eighteenth century, clerical and military critics of liberalism have pictured it as a doctrine that achieves its public goods, peace, prosperity, and security by encouraging private vice. Selfishness in all its possible forms is said to be its essence, purpose, and outcome. This, it is said now and then, is inevitable once martial virtue and the discipline imposed by God are discarded. Nothing could be more remote from the truth. The very refusal to use public coercion to impose creedal unanimity and uniform standards of behavior demands an enormous degree of self-control. Tolerance consistently applied is more difficult and morally more demanding than repression. Moreover, the liberalism of fear, which makes cruelty the first vice, quite rightly recognizes that fear reduces us to mere reactive units of sensation and that this does impose a public ethos on us. One begins with what is to be avoided, as Montaigne feared being afraid most of all. Courage is to be prized, since it both prevents us from being cruel, as cowards so often are, and fortifies us against fear from threats, both physical and moral. This is, to be sure, not the courage of the armed, but that of their likely victims. This is a liberalism that was born out of the cruelties of the religious civil wars, which forever rendered the claims of Christian charity a rebuke to all religious institutions and parties. ... The alternative then set, and still before us, is not one between classical virtue and liberal self-indulgence, but between cruel military and moral repression and violence, and a self-restraining tolerance that fences in the powerful to protect the freedom and safety of every citizen, old or young, male or female, black or white. Far from being an amoral free-for-all, liberalism is, in fact, extremely difficult and constraining, far too much so for those who cannot endure contradiction, complexity, diversity, and the risks of freedom.

This is stonelore: Honor in safety, survival under threat. Better a living coward than a dead hero.

Oh . . . thanks, Ron. . . . I’m sorry. . . .” She blew her nose and hiccuped. “It’s just so awf-ful, isn’t it? R-right after Dumbledore . . . I j-just n-never imagined Mad-Eye dying, somehow, he seemed so tough!” “Yeah, I know,” said Ron, giving her a squeeze. “But you know what he’d say to us if he was here?” “‘C-constant vigilance,’” said Hermione, mopping her eyes. “That’s right,” said Ron, nodding. “He’d tell us to learn from what happened to him. And what I’ve learned is not to trust that cowardly little squit, Mundungus.

I cowardly kept my eyes closed, nervous at what I might see. I wasn’t ready to face the ugly truth of what might have changed between us but knew putting it off would only prolong my suffering.

foul temper is a coward that always searches for the easiest target. I

Land sakes, I can’t make a speech,” she said. “Tell you what: I’ll recite a poem I composed while in jail.” And she began. “Although in jail in Centerboro, I do not fret or stew or worro. And confidently I confront The judge, because I’m innosunt. Tho I’m a cow, I am no coward I have not flinched when thunder rowered. When lightning flashed I’ve merely giggled Like one whose funnybone is tiggled. And I shall never give up hoping That soon the jail front door will oping And I’ll once more enjoy my freedom On Bean’s green fields. When last I seed ’em They were a fair and lovely vision And so for my return I’m wishun. I hope that Bismuth will get his’n And spend a good long time in prison.

O coward conscience! how dost thou afflict me?The lights burn blue —— Is it not dead midnight?Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.Shakesp.Richard III. A melancholy tear afflicts my eye,And my heart labours with a sudden sigh.Prior.2. The passive to be afflicted, has often at before the causal noun. The mother was so afflicted at the loss of a fine boy, who was her only son, that she died for grief of it.Addison.Spect.   AFFLICTEDNESS  (AFFLI'CTEDNESS)   n.s.[from afflicted.]The state of affliction, or of being afflicted; sorrowfulness; grief.   AFFLICTER  (AFFLI'CTER)   n.s.[from afflict.]The person that afflicts.   AFFLICTION  (AFFLI'CTION)   n.s.[afflictio, Lat.]1. The cause of pain or sorrow; calamity. To the flesh, as the Apostle himself granteth, all affliction is naturally grievous: therefore nature, which causeth fear, teacheth to pray against all adversity.Hooker,b. v. ¶ 48. We’ll bring you to Windsor, to one Mr. Brook,

Honor in safety, survival under threat. Better a living coward than a dead hero.

I am surprised.” She scanned the script rapidly. “Th-this is a p-pack of lies!” He looked worried. “Have you always had that little speech impediment?” he asked cautiously. “N-no, it’s my souvenir from the Escobaran psych service, and the l-late war. Who came up with this g-garbage, anyway?” The line that particularly caught her eye referred to “the cowardly Admiral Vorkosigan and his pack of ruffians.” “Vorkosigan’s the bravest man I ever met.” Gould took her firmly by the upper arm, and guided her to the shuttle hatch. “We have to go, now, to make the holovid timing. Maybe you can just leave that line out, all right? Now, smile.

Does age make a coward of you? Better to have given your life up in its bloom.

would do everything he wanted because I didn’t want to die. It was selfish and cowardly, but the fear went to my bones and took hours to leave. The nightmares never stopped. Every

You laughin’ at me, dwarf?” Mulch stopped laughing. “With you,” he corrected. “I’m laughing with you. That skull joke was pretty funny.” The goblin advanced, until his slimy nose was a centi-meter from Mulch’s own. “You pay-tron-izin’ me, dwarf?” Mulch swallowed, calculating. If he unhinged now, he could probably swallow the leader before the others reacted. Still, goblins were murder on the digestion. Very bony. The goblin conjured up a fireball around his fist. “I asked you a question, stumpy.” Mulch could feel every sweat gland on his body pop into instant overdrive. Dwarfs did not like fire. They didn’t even like thinking about flames. Unlike the rest of the fairy races, dwarfs had no desire to live aboveground. Too close to the sun. Ironic for someone in the Mud People Possession Liberation business. “N-no need for that,” he stammered. “I was just trying to be friendly.” “Friendly,” scoffed Wart-face. “Your kind don’t know the meanin’ of the word. Cowardly backstabbers, the lot of you.” Mulch nodded diplomatically. “We have been known to be a bit treacherous.

He’d never been one for war cries. Why tell your enemy where you are? They’ll learn soon enough. Surprise, that’s the key. Whether you’re fighting one man or a thousand or ten thousand. The more you’re fighting, the more important it becomes, ’cause shock spreads faster’n plague, faster’n fire, and turns the bravest into cowards. So he rushed up silent as winter, silent as sickness.

was the rationale of the cowardly and selfish, those that always found a way to justify their choices and decisions afterwards. The world has always been full of people that rode on the coattails of the brave and the enterprising that made decisions in the instant of need, and the new west of the territories was no different. Many of the pilgrims that set out to pioneer the new lands would turn back because of hardships, and others would simply give up because they were unprepared, physically and mentally, to face up to the challenges of a new world. It was the few individuals that always found a way to do right and were willing to make the sacrifice necessary, no matter the circumstances, that would build a strong and free nation.

This was the man that had blustered his way around everyone, giving the appearance of bravery and boldness, but now when he was facing the grim reaper, he had turned to a whining and fearful coward. Such is the case with many a man that faces the reality of death knowing he has made no provisions to prepare for his eternity.

Did he see?” I wondered because, if they fought, then Apollo would have had to see the cowardly thief Artemis talked about. “He did,” she said now, sipping on her tea slowly. “He saw. And once we get to him down there, we’ll know exactly who’s behind all of this. I’ll know exactly whom to hunt down.” The grin on her face was downright scary. Easy to see that she was a predator, even with a soft beauty like hers. So easy to see how she would rip you apart piece by piece—not only without hesitation or an ounce of guilt, but she would enjoy it, too. “Why haven’t you gotten him out yet?” I wondered. If this had happened a thousand years ago—give or take a couple hundred, she said—why was Apollo not out of the portal yet? At that, Artemis flinched, then put the cup down on the table. “Because we can’t get through the daemons,” she told me.

White Fragility Sonnet (A Record of White Crimes Against Humanity) Whiteness has done more harm to the world than good, Till you look past your whiteness, you cannot be human. Orange 'n musky trash of white privilege diss diversity, What else would you expect from colonial descendants! Every generation has its fraudsters like Edison, Every generation has trashy maniacs like Columbus. Every generation has war-merchants like Kissinger, Every generation has its churchillian doofus. White people tortured the Africans, White people booted Native Americans; White people massacred the Vietnamese, White people lynched and looted the Indians. White people caused genocide after genocide, Yet you still boast about white superiority. You proclaim that people of color are inferior, While white society is the epitome of savagery. If devil had a color, it would be white - Yet I say, color is nonsense, we're all equal. I am human enough to give you place beside me, All I expect is that, a human behaves human. After all the heartaches inflicted by white people, A 100 generations worth apology won't be sufficient. Yet I am human enough to declare, we are all equal; All I ask is that, humans finally behave human. They say, I'm spreading hate against the whites; To which I say, human making is my mission. There is no hope for humanitarian uplift, Unless you renounce all fragile intoleration. If you wanna learn about tolerance, ask a person of color, How do you even tolerate the sight of white people, when the wrongs done to you by whites are unparalleled in history! You'll realize, there's no mythical secret to integration, For ages we've known no other life but of inclusivity. Middle East, India and Far East, have been the melting pot of integration, before the whites even knew what integration is. Yet you say white people are superior - so be it; Cowards always take refuge in fairytales, to justify their fragility and prejudice. If you wanna be a decent human being, Never draw moral parameters from the west. No matter whether you're born of east or west, Remember, you are human first, then all else. To recognize diversity is science, To celebrate diversity is humanity. To recognize privilege is common sense, To abandon privilege builds human society.

Go ahead, Headmistress. Walk away, but don’t kid yourself because that has nothing to do with me,” I said, and she stopped walking. She didn’t turn to face me at all, but she stopped, and by God, I was going to say everything I had to say even if it fucking killed me. So, while I laughed like a lunatic, I started pacing in a small circle, just to give my body something to do. “I get it, though. I understand why you’d want to blame me for all of it—I point out everything you already know is wrong, but you pretend you don’t because you’re too cowardly to do anything about it. You just wear your secrets like a fucking armor, and you act like you know what you’re doing, and what you’re doing is the right way, the only way, and I remind you that it’s not. I make you look at yourself—and you know what? You can’t fucking stand that!

Gerhardt, though, hmph’d. “A common misconception is that pacifists won’t fight. They’ll often fight, and very hard, to protect themselves or things they believe in. They will indeed wage war, and often with devastating consequences to those who think them cowards.” I leaned into the conversation. “Not to mention that one of the best forms of pacifism is to stop the fighting as fast as possible—or prevent it from happening in the first place.” “Peace through superior firepower,” Perry observed. “A tale as old as time.

Cry for cut n stiches nt for bastard n bitches... I may b slow walker but i never walk bachward cowardly man bark loudest...

This confession is really the only legitimate response to an encounter with Jesus. If it is true that Jesus rose from the dead, that the scars He bore on Calvary are still the scars He bears today, then we have no other option than to look at Jesus as “our Lord and our God.” Thomas’s story shows us the paradox of Christianity: it is both faith and facts, believing and seeing. Our faith is grounded in a mountain of historical facts that Luke describes in Acts as “many convincing proofs” (Acts 1:3), some of which another former skeptic, the Apostle Paul, lays out in 1 Corinthians 15. Scholars through the ages have come away unable to explain away, without intellectual dishonesty, Jesus and the movement He created. This book’s purpose is not to offer the overwhelming evidence for Jesus’ resurrection, but I highly recommend you read books like Strobel’s The Case for Faith or N. T. Wright’s The Resurrection of the Son of God.