Steve Rogers Quotes

Compromise where you can. Where you can't, don't. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right. Even if the whole world is telling you to move, it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye, and say 'No, you move'.

You can't justify murder by masking it with a cause.

You asked about the Avengers. Y’wanna know the best part about being an Avenger? Having Captain America around you all the time. He just—the guy just brings out the absolute best in people. You want to be good when he’s around. You really do. Ivan, look around you real quick. Because right now? Captain America ain’t here.

I can do this all day.

The price of freedom is high, it always has been. And it's a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, then so be it.

Designing a product is designing a relationship.

Joseph Lister?" Liam said suddenly, cutting through the silence. "Really? Him?" Chubs stiffened beside me. "That man was a hero. He pioneered research on the origins of infections and sterilization." Liam stared hard at the faux leather cover of just Chubs's skip-tracer ID, carefully choosing his next words. "You couldn't have chosen something cooler? Someone who is maybe not an old dead white guy?" "His work led to the reduction of post operative infections and safer surgical practices," Chubs insisted. "Who would you have picked? Captain America?" "Steve Rogers is a perfectly legit name." Liam pass the ID back to him. " This is all...very Boba Fett of you. I'm not sure what to say, Chubsie.

Compromise where you can. Where you can't, don't. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right. Even if the whole world is telling you to move, it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye, and say 'No, you move'.

I won’t be in the history books; that’s for you. But I loved you first. As long as they get that right, I don’t care what they say.

When the mob and the press and the whole world tell you to move, your job is to plant yourself like a tree by the river of truth, and tell the whole world 'No, You Move.

You know the last time I was in Germany and saw a man standing above everybody else, we ended up disagreeing...

This job... We try to save as many people as we can. Sometimes that doesn't mean everybody, but, if we can't find a way to live with that, Next time... maybe nobody can be saved.

Sometimes I think if you didn't have me, there wouldn't be a single person in the world who really understood you...

I want to know what the hell made you think this was your job to do? Who made YOU the moral compass of us? How could you lay down with the people you’ve laid down with?? Tell me, 'Director Stark', was it worth it?? Was it WORTH it?! TELL ME!

He's tried to explain this a couple of times to a few of his buddies after about five beers. Like listen, listen. Imagine you live in this country, right? And there's a brutal war, and you witness and maybe participate in a horrific amount of violence, and you lose absolutely everyone you care about. Then you end up in this other country, where the culture and ways of doing things are completely foreign to you, and random assholes make fun of you for how you dress and act and talk while you're still coming to grips with the fact that everyone you love is gone and you can never go home again. Meanwhile, everyone around you is like "smile, motherfucker, you're in the Land of Plenty now, where there's a Starbucks on every corner and 500 channels on TV. You should be grateful! Why aren't you acting more grateful?" So you have to pretend to be grateful while you're dying inside. Sound like an traumatized, orphaned refugee? Also sounds like Steve fucking Rogers, Captain Goddamn America. Except that most refugees were part of a community of other people who were going through the same thing. Steve is all alone, the last damn unicorn, if the last unicorn had horrible screaming nightmares about the time when it helped to liberate Buchenwald.

Reading was my salvation. Libraries and universities and schools from all over Louisiana donated books to Angola and for once, the willful ignorance of the prison administration paid off for us, because there were a lot of radical books in the prison library: Books we wouldn’t have been allowed to get through the mail. Books we never could have afforded to buy. Books we had never heard of. Herman, King, and I first gravitated to books and authors that dealt with politics and race—George Jackson, Frantz Fanon, Malcolm X, Marcus Garvey, Steve Biko, Eldridge Cleaver’s Soul on Ice, J. A. Rogers’s From “Superman” to Man. We read anything we could find on slavery, communism, socialism, Marxism, anti-imperialism, the African independence movements, and independence movements from around the world. I would check off these books on the library order form and never expect to get them until they came. Leaning against my wall in the cell, sitting on the floor, on my bed, or at my table, I read.

Bucky did the things I couldn’t. I was the icon. I wore the flag… But while I gave speeches to troops in the trenches… He was doing what he’d been trained to do… and he was highly trained.

extravagant and chose not to attend. When Roger took senior executives on the PepsiCo jet to Montana or the Cayman Islands for long team-building weekends, Steve usually chose to stay home with his wife, Gail, and their four kids. I, of course, was never even invited on Roger’s trips because they were always men only. For me, that was

Roger snapped on the large, battery-powered radio. He rolled the dial around, but all he got was static. Finally, he heard a signal, and he tuned it in. A badly modulated voice droned through the interference. It sounded as if it were a war correspondent sending a signal from very far away. Steve clicked off the TV set so that they would better be able to hear the announcer: “. . . Reports that communications with Detroit have been knocked out along with Atlanta, Boston and certain sections of Philadelphia and New York City . . .” “Philly . . .” Roger said almost to himself. “I know WGON is out by now,” Steve said with animation. “It was a madhouse back there . . . people are crazy . . . if they’d just organize. It’s total confusion. I don’t believe it’s gotten this bad. I don’t believe they can’t handle it.” He looked around the room proudly. “Look at us. Look at what we were able to do today.” A few feet away, still in a slumped position by the pyramid of cartons, Peter’s eyes blinked open. He had been listening to what he wanted to hear, and now this statement by the kid really made him take notice. His eyes moved slightly to the side so that he could watch Stephen. The young man was gesturing wildly with his hands, going on and on about their exploits as a team. The other two didn’t realize Peter was awake. Roger nodded his head, but it didn’t seem as if he were really listening to Steve’s ramblings. “We knocked the shit out of ’em, and they never touched us,” Steve exclaimed. “Not really,” he said in a quieter tone. The rumbling voice erupted from the other side of the room. “They touched us good, Flyboy. We’re lucky to get out with our asses. You don’t forget that!

Her whole body shook as big, fat drops slid down her cheeks. Mortified, she covered her face as though she could hide her wailing. Strong arms enveloped her and Mitch pulled her close. She gave one thought to protest, and then sank into the warm, solid strength of his chest. He was big and broad, so different from what she was used to. The thought made her cry harder. She should push him away, but instead she curled closer. Needing him. She was the most wicked kind of woman. There’d be no escaping hell now. All those years of penance washed away by one night of rash behavior. Mitch kissed her temple, rubbing his hands over her bare skin. That he let her cry, and didn’t start lecturing her on emotional outbursts, made her want to crawl into him and never let go. He swayed them both, murmuring nonsense and tracing slow, soothing circles over her back. “Come on now, Princess. Tell me what’s wrong so I can help you.” She hiccupped into his shirt while she clung to him as though he were her life vest on a sinking ship. A great gush of air was followed by a hiccup. She blurted her very pressing and very embarrassing need. “I-I h-have to go to the b-b-bathroom.” The gentle sway stopped. A rumble in his chest was followed by a cough. He was trying not to laugh. The jerk. She sobbed harder: great heaping wails straight from the pit of her stomach. Now that she was on a roll, she keened pitifully, “A-and m-m-y f-feet hurt.” “It’s okay.” His tone was most definitely amused. “Why didn’t you go?” Now came the worst confession. “M-my dress i-is too b-big.” “Well, take it off.” Did he think she was an idiot? “I c-can’t get it off.” With a fresh batch of hysterics, her shoulders trembled as she buried her face in his T-shirt, now wet with tears. No one at the store had mentioned she’d need a crew of people to go to the bathroom, and now a stranger had to undress her. She hiccupped. They really should mention these kinds of details at the time of purchase. He ran his fingers down a million tiny buttons from the blades of her shoulders to the curve of her ass. “It’s okay. We can take care of this.” “B-but,” she cried. The thought almost unbearable. She was being tested. How was she supposed to be good when she had to disrobe in front of the most gorgeous man alive? “You’ll s-see me almost n-naked.” When he said nothing, fresh tears welled in her eyes. He probably thought she was propositioning him. Surely women threw themselves at him all the time. He rubbed her bare arms. “I’m thirty-four, Princess. I’ve seen a naked woman before.” “But you haven’t seen me.” No one had seen her—well, except Steve, but he hardly even counted. “I’m twenty-eight, and only one guy has seen me. And he isn’t like you. Why can’t you be someone else?” “Like who?” He trailed a path over her bare skin, creating a rush of tingles up and down her spine. She burrowed closer, some of her hysterics finally calming as his soothing but intoxicating presence worked its charm. “You’re not Mister Rogers, you know.” “You can trust me, Maddie. I won’t attack.” Ha!

Imagine this: you log onto Everycharity.org, and the site is as visually seductive as iTunes. It most definitely does not look as if it was designed by a Ph.D. candidate in accounting. The icons look so good you want to lick them, as Steve Jobs once remarked about the icons in the Mac operating system. Instead of reading like it was written by a committee of academics, it’s as easy to understand as Mr. Rogers. Instead of being filled with acronyms and social service jargon, it contains words that anyone can understand. The words actually inspire you instead of confusing you. Instead of intimidating, it invites.

Looking as sharp as Sweeney Todd’s razor, Roger struck a formidable figure as he donned his smart clothes and tie. At times, he would often talk of the night of his career when he fought John Conteh. He took the defeat of that match very personally and would often punch out a drunk who scoffed at his midlands accent and his past pride and glory.

It was very sad to hear that… After the car Kennedy was in… it hesitated and stopped there for a second or two… I

In the 1979 hit song The Gambler, Kenny Rogers famously said, “You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em; Know when to fold ‘em; Know when to walk away; And know when to run.

Hold that thought, ya tracksuit Dracula. You asked about The Avengers. Y'wanna know the best part about being an Avenger? Having Captain America around you all the time. He just– The guy just brings out the absolute best in people. You… want to be good when he’s around. You really do. Ivan, look around you real quick. Because, right now? Captain America ain’t here.

One year after the Capitol attack, the only people punished were the low-level foot soldiers, not elite coordinators like Michael Flynn, L. Lin Wood, Steve Bannon, Roger Stone, and not Trump himself.

Hey,” Bucky snapped. “You’re so much more than a fucking suicide risk.”   Steve laughed sharply, without humor, and Bucky’s insides curdled. “Fuck you.”   “You listen to me, Steve Rogers,” Bucky said fiercely, his voice thick with tears, “You are a suicide risk,” (Bucky’s entire body shuddered at the words, his brain not even beginning to digest it, but he needed to say this now) “And you are an artist. And you are a fighter.” Steve flinched. “And you are a soldier.” A more violent flinch. “And you are a runaway. And you are a protector. And you are kind. And you are fucking smart as hell. And you are passionate. And you are a good fucking person.”   “You sound real convinced,” Steve said bitterly, but his voice was quieter.   “You’re a suicide risk,” Bucky said, and the mindless tears had not stopped yet. “But you are not just a suicide risk, you fucking asshole. You’re a fucking person.

Who voiced the robot Ultron? At the party in Stark's place, which Avenger ends an argument by stating that his girlfriend is better than another Avenger's girlfriend? Who is in possession of the Time Stone in 2012 during the Battle of New York? During the fight on Sokovia, Captain America gives a pep talk.  Finish his final statement: "You get hurt, hurt them back. You get killed _______." Which Infinity Stone was left with Taneleer Tivan on the planet of Knowhere? When Thor tells the Avengers that Loki is his brother, and must be treated fairly, Natasha Romanoff tells him that Loki killed 80 people in two days.  What is Thor's response (exact quote)? After the credits roll at the end of most Marvel movies, it states that someone will return in a future movie.  Which character does it say will return at the end of "Avengers: Infinity War"? Who has the idea to go back in time and kill baby Thanos? Where is Captain America when he is first shown in the film? Who, according to Steve Rogers, might have the ability to properly remove Vision's Infinity Stone?

If they had not died on April 15, 1912, almost all the musicians would have had to fight in France and perhaps half of them wouldn’t have returned. When Roger Bricoux didn’t respond to the French call-up in 1914, he was registered as a deserter even though he had been dead for two years. At the age of thirty-six, Frederick Nixon Black of C. W. & F. N. Black found himself in the British army, first with the Royal Defence Corps in Hereford, and then after the war, with the Manchester Regiment handling German prisoners. Theo Brailey, had he lived, would have been called back to the Lancashire Fusiliers.

Whatever bond Rick had enjoyed with Roger in the previous fifteen or so years was terminally broken, and Rick’s downfall was swift. Steve was happily cruising to America on the QE2 when he was called by Roger and told to have Rick out of the band by the time Roger arrived in LA, where the album was due to be mixed.

We did meet and talk; we even had a relatively relaxed meeting in 1984 at a Japanese restaurant, soothed by sushi and sake, to discuss all the things we weren’t going to do – and then Steve joined us to hear about it. Roger was doubtless misled by our general bonhomie and acquiescence into believing that we accepted Pink Floyd was almost over. David and I meanwhile thought that after Roger had finished Pros And Cons, life could continue. We had, after all, had a number of hiatuses before. Roger sees this meeting as duplicity, rather than diplomacy – I disagree. Clearly, our communication skills were still troublingly non-existent.

I had dinner one night with Roger, who said that he would settle for being released from Steve’s contract. Unfortunately, Steve was a significant part of our enterprise and I think we felt that we were bound together, perhaps more than necessary. Part of the problem was that nothing was written down. There was a verbal agreement – just as binding as a written one, so the lawyers tell us – between Steve and the band, which meant that any actions by one individual had to be ratified by the rest of us. Discussions were muddied by a lack of understanding, certainly by me, of what the implications really were – as a result the issues remained unclear and any trust uncertain. In retrospect, we should have settled with Roger then and there.

Inside Trump’s circle, the power of illegal immigration to manipulate popular sentiment was readily apparent, and his advisers brainstormed methods for keeping their attention-addled boss on message. They needed a trick, a mnemonic device. In the summer of 2014, they found one that clicked. “Roger Stone and I came up with the idea of ‘the Wall,’ and we talked to Steve [Bannon] about it,” said Nunberg. “It was to make sure he talked about immigration.

He loved the guy.” It was clear the connection was genuine, said Roger Stone, “because Steve is a slob, and Trump hates slobs.

Ailes dispatched his personal lawyer, Peter Johnson, Jr., to the Breitbart Embassy in Washington, D.C., to deliver a personal message to Bannon to end the war on Kelly. Bannon loathed Johnson, whom he referred to privately as “that nebbishy, goofball lawyer on Fox & Friends”—Johnson had leveraged his proximity to Ailes to become a Fox News pundit. When he arrived at the Embassy, Johnson got straight to the point: if Bannon didn’t stop immediately, he would never again appear on Fox News. “You’ve got a very strong relationship with Roger,” Johnson warned. “You’ve gotta stop these attacks on Megyn. She’s the star. And if you don’t stop, there are going to be consequences.” Bannon was incensed at the threat. “She’s pure evil,” he told Johnson. “And she will turn on him one day. We’re going full-bore. We’re not going to stop. I’m gonna unchain the dogs.” The conversation was brief and unpleasant, and it ended with a cinematic flourish.

Bannon and the Breitbart editors had the same reaction and immediately turned on Megyn Kelly, with a fusillade of negative articles. She became the newest Breitbart narrative: the back-stabbing, self-promoting betrayer-of-the-cause. And Breitbart became the locus of pro-Trump, anti-Fox conservative anger. Between Thursday night, when the debate took place, and Sunday evening, Breitbart published twenty-five stories on Kelly, and the site’s editor in chief, Alex Marlow, went on CNN to accuse Fox News of “trying to take out Donald Trump” and staging “a gotcha debate.” The intensity of Republican anger stunned Fox News executives. The debate had drawn a record 24 million viewers. Now many of them were apoplectic at the network’s top talent. “In the beginning, virtually 100 percent of the emails were against Megyn Kelly,” a Fox source told New York’s Gabriel Sherman. “Roger was not happy. Most of the Fox viewers were taking Trump’s side.” Word spread through the building that Kelly was furious and had personally complained to Ailes. By Sunday, the attacks against her showed no sign of letting up, as other conservative opinion makers, such as radio host Mark Levin, agreed that her questions to Trump had been “unfair.” In a panic, Ailes called Bannon and begged him to call off the attacks. “Steve, this isn’t fair, and it’s killing us,” Ailes said. “You have to stop it.” “Fuck that, that was outrageous what she did!” Bannon retorted. “She pulled every trick out of the leftist playbook.” “You’ve gotta knock this crap off, Steve.” “Not until she backs off Trump—she’s still going after him on her show.” “She’s the star of this network! Cut it out!” The call ended without resolution. Bannon and Ailes would not speak again for almost a year.

out the news a little at a time. Grant sighed. "You have something for me?" "You heard about the shootout?" "Excuse me?" "That woman in the red truck who came to see you? Gwen Rogers? She and her boyfriend got into a big gunfight at this coffee shop over by UNM." "Jesus, when was this?" "Lunchtime. I heard about it and stopped by there. Lot of cops." "You just walked up to the crime scene?

Before they’re done my internal monologue is already going through the paces: Robert Loggia’s sure had some interesting parts over the years, hasn’t he? Like when he played that growly assistant football coach in Necessary Roughness. And that leads me to: Hey, you know who else made an appearance in that movie? Roger Craig. And the next thing you know, I’m at Memorial Stadium. Again. This time it’s 1981, and Roger’s dressed in red, jetting 94 yards down the Astroturf for a touchdown, with a pair of Florida State defenders helplessly flapping along in his wake. The school record for longest run from scrimmage that was, and it stood for twenty years, until Eric Crouch got 95 with that impossible run at Mizzou. And that gets me to consider: Who’d win in a footrace between Crouch and Craig, if Craig were in his prime, of course? Hmmm…

It is useful , for purposes of the superhero narrative, to see how the sheer force of Rogers's soul is matched in the end by his physique. But what does it mean to know that Steve Rogers's capacity for doing good is only reached once he is given a body that speaks to his soul's power? What does it mean, as a disabled person, to watch Steve's struggle and realize that your own potential will never be fulfilled in the eyes of the world – to realize that the world expects so much less from you as a result of your body that even the simplest of actions is treated like a galactic event? A broken body with a bright, pure soul. A superhero who is a superhero simply for getting up and getting coffee down the street. The disabled body is less ; the disabled body must therefore be content with less, no matter how bright one's soul might be shining.

Para dimensionar o impacto das crenças, vamos usar como exemplo Roger Bannister, que quebrou o recorde de correr uma milha em menos de 4 minutos. Até aquele momento, se pensava que era fisicamente impossível para um homem correr esta distância em menos de 4 minutos. Roger passou 9 anos se preparando e foram muitas tentativas fracassadas, até que, finalmente, conseguiu diminuir esse tempo, em maio de 1945. No entanto, tão impossível como parecia inicialmente, a barreira dos 4 minutos foi quebrada novamente apenas 6 semanas depois, e depois, nos próximos 9 anos, mais de 200 pessoas quebraram esse recorde. A crença de que era algo impossível mudou.