Sophie Scholl Quotes

Stand up for what you believe in even if you are standing alone

I will cling to the rope God has thrown me in Jesus Christ, even when my numb hands can no longer feel it.

The real damage is done by those millions who want to 'survive.' The honest men who just want to be left in peace. Those who don’t want their little lives disturbed by anything bigger than themselves. Those with no sides and no causes. Those who won’t take measure of their own strength, for fear of antagonizing their own weakness. Those who don’t like to make waves—or enemies. Those for whom freedom, honour, truth, and principles are only literature. Those who live small, mate small, die small. It’s the reductionist approach to life: if you keep it small, you’ll keep it under control. If you don’t make any noise, the bogeyman won’t find you. But it’s all an illusion, because they die too, those people who roll up their spirits into tiny little balls so as to be safe. Safe?! From what? Life is always on the edge of death; narrow streets lead to the same place as wide avenues, and a little candle burns itself out just like a flaming torch does. I choose my own way to burn.

An end in terror is preferable to terror without end.

I know that life is a doorway to eternity, and yet my heart so often gets lost in petty anxieties. It forgets the great way home that lies before it.

Somebody, after all, had to make a start. What we wrote and said is also believed by many others. They just don't dare express themselves as we did.

The sun still shines.

How can we expect fate to let a righteous cause prevail when there is hardly anyone who will give himself up undividedly to a righteous cause?

It is such a splendid sunny day and I have to go.

How can we expect righteousness to prevail when there is hardly anyone willing to give himself up individually to a righteous cause. Such a fine, sunny day, and I have to go, but what does my death matter, if through us, thousands of people are awakened and stirred to action?

I am, now as before, of the opinion that I did the best that I could do for my nation. I therefore do not regret my conduct and will bear the consequences that result from my conduct.

And I could weep at how mean people are and how they betray their fellow creatures, perhaps for the sake of personal advantage. It is enough to make a person lose heart sometimes. I often wish I lived on a Robinson Crusoe island.

I can't be overwhelmingly happy. I'm never free for a moment day and night from the uncertainty in which we live these days, which excludes any carefree plans for tomorrow and casts a shadow over all the days to come.

Isn't it a riddle . . . and awe-inspiring, that everything is so beautiful? Despite the horror. Lately I've noticed something grand and mysterious peering through my sheer joy in all that is beautiful, a sense of its creator . . . Only man can be truly ugly, because he has the free will to estrange himself from this song of praise. It often seems that he'll manage to drown out this hymn with his cannon thunder, curses and blasphemy. But during this past spring it has dawned upon me that he won't be able to do this. And so I want to try and throw myself on the side of the victor.

It was a sunny day, I was carrying a child in a white dress to be christened. The path to the church led up a steep slope, but I held the child in my arms firmly and without faltering. Then suddenly my footing gave way ... I had enough time to put the child down before plunging into the abyss. The child is our idea. In spite of all obstacles it will prevail.

Many people think of our times as being the last before the end of the world. The evidence of horror all around us makes this seem possible. But isn't that an idea of only minor importance? Doesn't every human being, no matter which era he lives in, always have to reckon with being accountable to God at any moment? Can I know whether I'll be alive tomorrow morning? A bomb could destroy all of us tonight. And then my guilt would not be one bit less than if I perished together with the arth and the stars.

Dear God, you created us in your likeness, our hearts are uneasy until they find you - From the film Sophie Scholl

The more they lack material things, the more they indulge themselves when they can, but the less is their satisfaction with this world and they hunger for life after death(on Russian slave laborers.)

I pity people who can't find laughter or at least some bit of amusement in the little doings of the day. I believe I could find something ridiculous even in the saddest moment, if necessary. It has nothing to do with being superficial. It's a matter of joy in life.

It’s the reductionist approach to life: if you keep it small, you’ll keep it under control. If you don’t make any noise, the bogeyman won’t find you. But it’s all an illusion, because they die too, those people who roll up their spirits into tiny little balls so as to be safe. Safe?! From what? Life is always on the edge of death; narrow streets lead to the same place as wide avenues, and a little candle burns itself out just like a flaming torch does. I choose my own way to burn.

Sophie Scholl faced her own death with supreme fearlessness and a deep faith in her moral, political and religious convictions. She showed that brutal dictatorships can only be averted through the courage and resistance of all citizens. She walked towards the guillotine calmly and with no trace of fear, believing that what she had done was the right thing to do. There have been many brave indiviuals in history. Sophie Scholl walks alongside the very bravest of them all. A white rose that will never die - with a profound message: FREEDOM Please pass Sophie's message on.

How can we expect righteousness to prevail when there is hardly anyone willing to give himself up individually to a righteous cause? Such a fine, sunny day, and I have to go, but what does my death matter, if through us, thousands of people are awakened and stirred to action?

Their eyes met; neither would forget.

The beast in man had lifted its mask and the time of euphemistic niceties and rationalizations was over.

Just as I can't see a clear brook without at least stopping to dangle my feet in it, I can't see a meadow in May and simply pass by. There is nothing more seductive then such fragrant earth, the blossoms of clover swaying above it like a light foam, and the petal-bedecked branches of the fruit trees reaching upward, as if they wanted to rescue themselves from this tranquil sea. No, I have to turn from my path and immerse myself in this richness . . . When I turn my head, my cheek grazes the rough trunk of the apple tree next to me. How protectively it spreads its good branches over me. Without ceasing the sap rises from its roots, nuturing even the smallest of leaves. Do I hear, perhaps, a secret heartbeat? I press my face against its dark, warm bark and think to myself: homeland, and am so indescribably happy in this instant.

Just because so many things are in conflict does not mean that we ourselves should be divided.

Someday perhaps my story will be told, and others will remember. That to witness wrong and stay silent is as much a crime as committing evil oneself. That youth does not exempt one from responsibility. ~Sophie Scholl

I've just been playing the Trout Quintet on the phonograph. Listening to the andantino makes me want to be a trout myself. You can't help rejoicing and laughing, however moved or sad you feel, when you see the springtime clouds in the sky, the budding branches, moved by the wind, in the bright early sunlight. I'm really looking forward to the spring again. In that piece of Schubert's you can positively feel and smell the breeze and hear the birds and the whole of creation shouting for joy.

In a universe where all values have been shattered, where religions and histories and literatures and social structures have lost their meaning, man has to stand up again, accept his condition, accept that he is alone, and has no protection, and proceed to create his own world, his own values, his own decisions, his own actions—and be willing to pay the consequences, to be responsible for everything he thinks says, and does.

Theory is a lovely furrow with nothing but poppy plants; practice is a furrow with a few poppy plants hidden among lots of weeds.

When I was able to get home it first hit me that you had left and I couldn't do anything about it. Every day before that an evening with you was waiting for me after school, now no more, strange feeling. I had grown too accustomed to your warmth. That is also a danger. At home I looked at the notebooks that you had bought and I got the stupidest surge of hope that I'd find something of you, something especially for meant for me. I would so much like to have something of you that I could always keep by me, that nobody else would notice.

I would so much like to have something of you that I could always keep by me, that nobody else would notice.

The boy was in the Hitler Youth, he says, and he was reading a book one day, he was really enjoying it, until his troop leader found him reading it and gave him a severe warning because it was by a, a Jewish writer, it was a banned book. And the boy was so incensed that this really good book he’d been reading had been banned—was the wrong kind of book, the wrong kind of art, if you like, written by the wrong kind of writer—that he thought twice, he began to ask questions about what was happening, and then, it turns out, he went on with his sister, Sophie Scholl, their name was Scholl, to do this stellar work, to try to change things, make it possible for people to think, I mean differently. And they fought back, and they did change things. They did a lot of good before they were caught. And they were killed for it.

La vie est toujours au bord de la mort ; les ruelles donnent sur la même place que les boulevards, et une petite bougie s’éteint tout comme un flambeau. Je choisis ma propre façon de brûler.

Isn't it a tremendous enigma and, if we know the reason, almost frightening, that everything is so beautiful? In spite of all the terrible things that are going on. A great unknown has burst into my simple enjoyment of things beautiful, a faint vision of their creator, whom the innocent, created beings glorify with their beauty. Only man can be ugly. Being endowed with free will, he can seclude himself from the glorification. These days one might often think that man would manage to drown out this song of praise with his roaring cannons, with swearing and blaspheming. And yet - this dawned on me last spring - he cannot. And I will try to take the victors' side.

e la risposta - adesso lo so - era in fondo solo una: la vera dignità è di che non pensa mai di essere inutile. Lei, Eichmann, mi dice "eseguivo gli ordini, perché se non l'avessi fatto avrebbero messo un altro". E' come dire: ero una ruota dell'ingranaggio, qualunque cosa facessi era inutile. Ebbene, Sophie Scholl poteva pensare "ho vent'anni, se accuso Hitler di genocidio cosa ottengo? Mi faranno fuori e tutto continuerà come niente fosse". Qui però sta il punto: Sophie Scholl non lo pensò. Gridò, gettò i suoi volantini. Lo fece, mi spiego? Lo fece. E non fu inutile. Perché io oggi, qui, posso dirle che imparo da lei. E non il coraggio, no: la dignità.

May God never grant me an earthly destination, so that I never come to rest till the end of my days.

The blame did not lay on evil men, for evil men always do evil things. The blame lay on all of those millions who just wanted to survive.

Laws always change, Herr Mohr. You know that. I obeyed the law of my conscience. The law that never changes. The law that must be obeyed when political law breaks all moral authority.

Even though May came in accompanied by rain, all the fields were bright with the loveliest green imaginable. A sunbeam pierced a little gap in the dark sea of cloud, and the world laughed and glittered in the light of heaven. I stood there marveling and thought, Does God take us for fools, that he should light up the world for us with such consummate beauty in the radiance of his glory, in his honor? And nothing, on the other hand, but rapine and murder? Where does the truth lie? Should one go off and build a little house with flowers outside the windows and a garden outside the door and extol and thank God and turnone’s back on the world and its filth? Isn’t seclusion a form of treachery of desertion? I’m weak and puny, but I want to do what is right.

People shouldn’t be ambivalent themselves just because everything else is, yet one constantly meets the view that, because we’ve been born into a world of contradictions, we must defer to it. Oddly enough, this thoroughly un-Christian attitude is especially common among self-styled Christians.

Every convinced opponent of National Socialism must ask himself how he can fight against the present 'state' [Nazi Germany] in the most effective way, how he can strike it the most telling blows. Through passive resistance, without a doubt. The imperialist ideology of force, from whatever side it comes, must be shattered for all time.

Stand up for what you believe in even if you are standing alone” ― Sophie Scholl

Finally, someone has to make a start. We only said and wrote what many people think. They just don’t dare to express it. —SOPHIE SCHOLL AT THE WHITE ROSE TRIAL IN MUNICH, QUOTED BY RICHARD HANSER IN DEUTSCHLAND ZULIEBE (FOR THE SAKE OF GERMANY), P. 15

It was a sunny day, I was carrying a child in a long white dress to be christened. The path to the church led up a steep slope, but I held the child in my arms firmly and without faltering. Then suddenly my footing gave way . . . I had enough time to put the child down before plunging into the abyss. The child is our idea. In spite of all obstacles it will prevail. —Sophie Scholl (1921–1943), German student executed for her involvement in the nonviolent anti-Nazi resistance group the White Rose

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The only overt sign of disaffection following the collapse at Stalingrad came from a small group of Munich students, known as the White Rose. Their ideas spread to other students in Hamburg, Berlin, Stuttgart and Vienna. On 18 February, after a campaign of leaflets and slogans painted on walls calling for the overthrow of Nazism, Sophie Scholl and her brother Hans were arrested after scattering more handbills at the Ludwig-Maximilian University in Munich. Tortured by the Gestapo, then sentenced to death by Roland Freisler at a special session of the People’s Court in Munich, brother and sister were beheaded. A number of other members of their circle, including the professor of philosophy, Kurt Huber, suffered similar fates.

Sophie had been chiefly concerned in those days whether her mother would be able to bear the ordeal of losing two children at the same moment. But now, as Mother stood there, so brave and good, Sophie had a feeling of sudden release from anxiety. Again her mother spoke; she wanted to give her daughter something she might hold fast to: "You know, Sophie - Jesus." Earnestly, firmly, almost imperiously, Sophie replied, "Yes, but you too." Then she left - free, fearless, and calm.

Man lives by memories as well as ideas.

I sometimes feel as if my puny brain is the battleground for all these battles. I can't remain aloof because there's no happiness for me in so doing, because there's no happiness without truth—and this war is essentially a war about truth. Every false throne must first crack and splinter, that's the distressing thing, before the genuine can appear in unadulterated form. I mean that personally and spiritually, not politically. I've been presented with a choice.

Our surroundings aren't all that important. What counts is what we put into them.

Inner strength is our most powerful weapon.

Man in the midst of his world resembles a fire that flickers relentlessly, inflames us with apparent unpredictability, burns, and dies. Should we blind ourselves to these dangers? Isn't it preferable to die of ever-gnawing pain than to roam the world freely and easily, but falsely? Is there no consolation? Love is the only consolation, because love requires no proof. It exists like God himself, whose existence could doubtless be proved but was sensed by mankind long before any evidence could be produced.

Shadows exist for the sake of light, but light takes precedence.

Nicht jeder ist ein Ganghi, aber jeder kann sich für ein klein wenig mehr Gerechtigkeit einsetzen. Nicht jeder ist eine Mutter Teresa, aber jeder kann durch Zuwendung menschliche Wärme schenken. Nicht jeder ist ein van Gogh, aber jeder kann kreativ und schöpferisch die Welt neu interpretieren. Nicht jeder ist eine Sophie Scholl, aber jeder kann Zivilcourage im eigenen Umfeld üben.

So spring has come after all! People must have been thinking that every year for thousands of years, and it's true: However much our spirits may rise and fall, we see the light above us in the vale of despair, and when we're up again after untold trials and tribulations, we breathe a sign of relief and tell ourselves: It had to be this way—everything's bound to come right again.

Yes, the fall has arrived, and one mustn't blind oneself to the fact. That bleak word means more than just the falling of withered leaves, more than wild, windswept skies—more, too, than the delicate veils of mist that enshroud everything in melancholy. It means dying itself. The dying [you] can't evade because you're still young and believe in the return of spring. You have to pass through this process of dying, which doesn't, after all, mean death itself.

The state is never an end in itself. It is important only as a means by which humanity can achieve its goal, which is nothing other than the advancement of man’s constructive capabilities.