Pancho Villa Quotes

Don't let it end like this. Tell them I said something.

Good-bye -- if you hear of my being stood up against a stone wall and shot to rags please know that I think that a pretty good way to depart this life. It beats old age, disease or falling down the cellar stairs.

Tell them I said something.

The greatest tragedy that can befall a man is never to know who he really is.

There are three things a man must do before he dies: plant a tree, father a child, and write a book.

Never did I fight for the poor. I fought against the rich--which of course isn't at all the same thing. In any case, the fighting was the point. You don't fight to become free--to fight is to be free. A man with a gun and the will to use it can't be mastered, he can only be killed.

Dont' let it end like this, tell them I said something.

Don’t let it end like this. Tell them I said something.

I understood more clearly than ever that the line between a noble revolutionary and a lowdown bandit was the line between war and peace.

Down in sunny Mexico there lived an old aunt with four very pretty nieces. One day Pancho Villa and his gang of revolutionary bandits broke into their house. Accosting them on the patio the brigand said, “This place is in our possession and you are in our power.” “We are helpless!” one of the girls exclaimed, “and we must submit, but please spare poor old Aunt.” “Shut up!” snapped the aunt. “War is war!

Like Villa, I believed that even though some men did not deserve to go on living, they still deserved to be remembered at their best.

Descubrí que las balas no son tan aterradoras, que el temor a la muerte no es una cosa tan grande y que los mexicanos son maravillosamente simpáticos

Mexican bandit Pancho Villa,

Tell them I said something. Pancho Villa's last words.

Fred Rice, gunslinger, badest hombre ever to grace the American Southwest desert since Pancho Villa.

The power of men like me does not come solely from our ability to kill--which is no small talent in itself, true, but neither is it as rare as gold. No, the true source of our power is so obvious it sometimes goes unnoticed for what it is: our power comes from other men's lack of courage. There is even less courage in this world than here is talent for killing. Men like me rule because most men are faint of heart in the shadow of death.

As we pulled out of Zacatecas, the air was thick with the odors of smoldering ash, bloody dust, putrefying flesh. The rich ripe smells of triumph.

Don't let me die like this! Tell them I said something clever.

Don't let it end like this. Tell them I said something.

La auténtica vocación de la Ciudad de México es el martirio. La arrasaron los españoles en 1521, la violaron los yanquis en 1847, la manosearon los franceses en 1863. Eso sin contar a revolucionarios y contrarrevolucionarios: la Decena Trágica y el bombardeo de la Ciudadela, los zapatistas en el Sanborns, Pancho Villa sentado en la silla presidencial, el saqueo carrancista de la colonia Roma.

La de la Revolución Mexicana es una historia en la que mucho se mata y mucho se muere, en la que la vida humana parece valer muy poco y la supervivencia es tan accidental y casual como la muerte. Avitia rescata las frases en un corrido terrible: 'Como saben que en México se mata y que a diario se muere por acá'.

Gli venne una voglia matta di rivedere la ragazza, ma stabilì che, prima, avrebbe dovuto fare qualcosa che giustificasse la stima che la ragazza gli aveva dimostrato. Era un debito da pagare, insomma. Come succede a me quando qualcuno mi chiama "dottore" e io mi dico sempre: "Bisogna che mi decida a prendere questa stramaledetta laurea!". È inutile tentar d'andare controccorrente: quando hai sgobbato trent'anni per farti un nome, la gente ti premia dandoti il titolo più generico e meno meritato che ci possa essere e, allora, bisogna cercare di adeguarsi. Se Pancho Villa resuscitasse e venisse a fare un giro in Italia, la gente gli direbbe: <>.

I was always crazy about any Chinese takeout since everything on those long menus is so tempting, but when the craving really hit, the folks at Panda Delight over on Richmond almost knew without asking to pack me up an order of wings, a couple of egg rolls, shrimp dumplings, pork fried rice, and the best General Tso's chicken this side of Hong Kong. When my friend at the shelter, Eileen Silvers, got married at Temple Beth Yeshurum, I had a field day over the roast turkey and lamb and rice and baked salmon and jelly cakes on the reception buffet, and when me and Lyman would go out to Pancho's Cantina for Mexican, nothing would do but to follow up margaritas and a bowl of chunky guacamole and a platter of beef fajitas with a full order of pork carnitas and a few green chile sausages. And don't even ask about the barbecue and links and jalapeño cheese bread and pecan pie at Tinhorn BBQ. Just the thought still makes me drool.

Once more his hasty step and high-pitched laughter were heard down the corridors of Metropolitan magazine. He cheerfully tolerated8 the left-wing views of his younger colleagues, including Israel Zangwill, Sonya Levien, George Bellows, and John Reed, who professed admiration for the Mexican revolutionary Pancho Villa. “Villa,” Roosevelt said9, “is a murderer and a rapist.” Reed tried to provoke him. “What’s wrong with that? I believe in rape.” But Roosevelt only grinned. “I’m glad to find a young man who believes in something.

Primero se usa ésta -decía Pancho señalándose la cabeza- y luego éstos -tomándose los testículos.

—Vino la muerte a buscarme —suspira Villa—, pero se equivocó de hora. Los dos resucitados van a parar a una misma celda en la prisión de Tlatelolco. Conversando pasan los días y los meses. Magaña habla de Zapata y de su plan de reforma agraria y del presidente Madero, que se hace el sordo porque quiere quedar bien con los campesinos y con los terratenientes, montado en dos caballos a la vez. Un pequeño pizarrón y un par de libros llegan a la celda. Pancho Villa sabe leer personas, pero no letras. Magaña le enseña; y juntos van entrando, palabra por palabra, estocada tras estocada, en los castillos de Los tres mosqueteros. Después emprenden viaje por Don Quijote de La Mancha, locos caminos de la vieja España; y Pancho Villa, el feroz guerrero del desierto, acaricia las páginas con mano de amante. Magaña le cuenta: —Este libro… ¿Sabes? Lo escribió un preso. Uno como nosotros.

—Vino la muerte a buscarme —suspira Villa—, pero se equivocó de hora. Los dos resucitados van a parar a una misma celda en la prisión de Tlatelolco. Conversando pasan los días y los meses. Magaña habla de Zapata y de su plan de reforma agraria y del presidente Madero, que se hace el sordo porque quiere quedar bien con los campesinos y con los terratenientes, montado en dos caballos a la vez. Un pequeño pizarrón y un par de libros llegan a la celda. Pancho Villa sabe leer personas, pero no letras. Magaña le enseña; y juntos van entrando, palabra por palabra, estocada tras estocada, en los castillos de Los tres mosqueteros. Después emprenden viaje por Don Quijote de La Mancha, locos caminos de la vieja España; y Pancho Villa, el feroz guerrero del desierto, acaricia las páginas con mano de amante. Magaña le cuenta: —Este libro… ¿Sabes? Lo escribió un preso. Uno como nosotros.

¿Qué sabe Francisco Villa de revoluciones cuando cruzan el rancho de las Flores hacia las 12 de la noche del día 8 de marzo? Sabe lo que aprendió en seis meses de revuelta maderista y en tres meses de campaña militar contra los colorados, pero eso es acerca de la guerra; ahora sabe también, y esto es más importante, lo que aprendió en años de bandolerismo y en seis largos meses de cárcel, donde todo el que ha leído algo sobre la historia de las revoluciones entiende que se aprende mucho. Sabe que ya llegó la hora de los pobres, que ahora la revuelta tiene enfrente claramente, sin estorbos, a los grandes hacendados y a los militares. Ahora no estará Madero para despojar de contenido social el alzamiento, ni Villa sentirá el yugo de estar encuadrado en el ejército regular. Sabe en negativo: lo que no se hizo, lo que quedó pendiente, el trágico destino de las conciliaciones con el enemigo. Sabe eso y sabe muchas cosas más que aún no sabe que sabe, pero que irán surgiendo lentamente en los próximos meses.

It's a classic tale of good versus evil, except with garlic. Gramma goes to La Senora for consultation, for help, for direction. But Gramma has darker thoughts than La Senora can get behind. She's casting midnight spells with nail clippings and earwax, cheap powdery perfumes and dead toads in jars, carrying her 9 millimeter pistol in her car. She prays for strength. She prays for death. Not for herself or him. Maybe him. She prays to Pancho Villa, she prays to bad saints.

Horas después asesinarían, tras haberlo torturado, a Gustavo Madero. Victoriano Huerta (él precisamente, se diría Villa), pactando con los sublevados, se haría con el poder. Y el 22 de febrero los militares asesinaron al presidente Madero. Luz Corral cuenta que, al saberlo, Villa, "chispeantes los ojos, se golpeaba el pecho, se mesaba los cabellos y lanzaba la injuria procaz y fuerte: ¡Traidores!". Ese mismo día, un Villa lloroso que juraba venganza subió al techo de su casa, abrió la jaula de sus palomas y salió de El Paso.

a todas y también al bebé que una de ellas llevaba en brazos. Jaurrieta rechaza vehementemente esta versión, aunque su jefe tampoco sale muy bien parado en la suya, según la cual Villa le había confiado cincuenta mil pesos a la señora González, que era su amiga desde hacía mucho tiempo. También le había dado un salvoconducto para cruzar sus líneas. La señora había utilizado el salvoconducto para ayudar a los carrancistas y cuando Villa, tras la captura de Jiménez, le pidió que devolviera parte del dinero, ella rehusó. Entonces Villa envió a tres hombres con órdenes de fingir que iban a quemarla, para intimidarla, pero de no hacer tal cosa aunque las mujeres resistieran. Ellas estaban armadas, dispararon contra los soldados villistas y éstos contestaron el fuego y las mataron a todas. Jaurrieta dice que Villa de ninguna manera le habría hecho daño a un niño. Dado que nunca intenta esconder o embellecer las atrocidades cometidas por Villa, su versión es creíble (Jaurrieta, op. cit., pp. 146-47).

They made a list of a hundred books to test their system. Symbolism not lost on the librarian, nor on the bestselling author, they pulled Fahrenheit 451 first. The Call of the Wild, The Catcher in the Rye, Animal Farm, 1984, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, For Whom the Bell Tolls, The Autobiography of Malcolm X, Invisible Man, Beloved, books on Thomas Jefferson, Spartacus, Pancho Villa, Stepan Razin, Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., works by Howard Zinn, and a host of other free thought and spiritual books made their list.

The hemp plant entered Mexico, as we have seen, after Washington and other Virginia planters enthusiastically spread it around the southern United States. As early as 1902, anthropologist Carl Lumholtz observed that some of the Indians in northwestern Mexico were using its leaves in religious rites whenever the peyote cactus was unavailable. They called it rosa maria (Rosemary) but whether they anthropomorphized it and considered it a goddess (like Peyote Woman) is not clear. In the Tepe-hua region, rosa maria became santa rosa (Saint Rose), but elsewhere it became maria juana (Mary Jane) – and, hence our modern name, marijuana. Under the latter title it was celebrated in the famous marching song of Pancho Villa’s rebels during the Mexican Revolution of 1910-1920:

Looking at our history, I can see why this would be true. The role of the Chicana has been a very strong one, although a silent one. When the woman has seen the suffering of her people, she has always responded bravely and as a totally committed and equal human. My mother told me of how, during the time of Pancho Villa and the revolution in Mexico, she saw the men march through the village continually for three days and then she saw the battalion of women marching for a whole day. The women carried food and supplies; also, they were fully armed and wearing loaded "carrilleras." In battle, they fought alongside the men. Out of the Mexican revolution came the revolutionary personage "Adelita," who wore her rebozo crossed at the bosom as a symbol of a revolutionary woman in Mexico.

Che worship amongst Mexicans, however, features a few more wrinkles than the usual caudillismo causes. Guevara, for one, was an emigrant—left Argentina for revolution—who remade his life in Mexico when he met Fidel Castro. He died young, like all good Mexican men. Che was a romantic—can’t tell you how many pro-immigrant-activist e-mails end with Guevara’s supposed quote “At the risk of seeming ridiculous, let me say that a true revolutionary is guided by great feelings of love.” More important, Guevara wasn’t afraid to use violence as a method in the pursuit of his love, the love that dare not speak its name except through the barrel of a gun. Don’t believe Chicanos: while César Chávez advocated nonviolence, Mexicans like their leaders armed to the gold teeth—think Emiliano Zapata, Pancho Villa, Subcomandante Marcos. And now you know why democracy has never existed in Mexico.

Brujeria – Matando Güeros lyrics Killing White Boys Americans use us for wiping their asses They treat us like pig shit Have balls and be men A... Trip north Centuries pass and our race is fucked up American bastards, they give us dick and... Forced into poverty, We are... Your vengeance will be your dark destiny Killing white boys - Long live the race!!! Killing white boys - Like Pancho Villa!!! Killing white boys - Satan takes care of you Killing white boys - Killing white boys!!! Machete in hand and hot native blood Satanic force, looking for vengeance In the north we will take over Killing white boys - Long live the race!!! Killing white boys - Like Ricky Ramirez!!! Killing white boys - Satan takes care of you Killing white boys - Killing white boys!!!

Donovan was a man who relished battle: he had fought Pancho Villa in Mexico, the Germans in the First World War, J. Edgar Hoover at the FBI, and, as New York district attorney, the bootleggers during Prohibition. He had modeled his OSS directly on MI6. Donovan was a swashbuckler, more piratical than political. “Excitement made him snort like a racehorse,” and the Tool missions chimed perfectly with his “brave, noble, headlong, gleeful, sometimes outrageous pursuit of action and skulduggery.” Like Gould, he did not give a damn about the politics of the agents, observing that he would “put Stalin on the OSS payroll if it would help defeat Hitler.” He had no idea, of course, that Stalin’s agents already were on the Tool payroll. Donovan overruled Casey. The mission went ahead.

To understand the background to the most momentous telegram ever sent, we have to go back to July 1916. Jutland has just been fought, the British and their allies are dying in unprecedented numbers on the Somme, and the American general John Pershing is fighting in Mexico in pursuit of Pancho Villa. It isn’t going well for him.