Stolen Legacy Quotes

You and I are the remains of an unfulfilled legacy, heirs to a kingdom of stolen identities and ragged confusion.

When I talk about mediocrity, I talk about how we somehow agreed that wealthy white men are the best group to bring the rest of us prosperity, when their wealth was stolen from our labor.

Knowledge is the greatest power and it is something no one can see. It cannot be stolen or broken, No one can take it from you.

She’s using the pen name Juniper Song to pretend to be Chinese American. She’s taken new author photos to look more tan and ethnic, but she’s as white as they come. June Hayward, you are a thief and a liar. You’ve stolen my legacy, and now you spit on my grave.

The term Greek philosophy, to begin with is a misnomer, for there is no such philosophy in existence. The ancient Egyptians had developed a very complex religious

The wealth of the imperial countries is our wealth too. On the universal plane this affirmation, you may be sure, should on no account be taken to signify that we feel ourselves affected by the creations of Western arts or techniques. For in a very concrete way Europe has stuffed herself inordinately with the gold and raw materials of the colonial countries: Latin America, China, and Africa. From all these continents, under whose eyes Europe today raises up her tower of opulence, there has flowed out for centuries toward that same Europe diamonds and oil, silk and cotton, wood and exotic products. Europe is literally the creation of the Third World. The wealth which smothers her is that which was stolen from the underdeveloped peoples. The ports of Holland, the docks of Bordeaux and Liverpool were specialized in the Negro slave trade, and owe their renown to millions of deported slaves. So when we hear the head of a European state declare with his hand on his heart that he must come to the aid of the poor underdeveloped peoples, we do not tremble with gratitude. Quite the contrary; we say to ourselves: "It's a just reparation which will be paid to us.

The term Greek philosophy, to begin with is a misnomer, for there is no such philosophy in existence. The ancient Egyptians had developed a very complex religious system, called the Mysteries, which was also the first system of salvation.   As such, it regarded the human body as a prison house of the soul, which could be liberated from its bodily impediments, through the disciplines of the Arts and Sciences, and advanced from the level of a mortal to that of a God.

It's the expectations that many white men have that they shouldn't have to climb, shouldn't have to struggle, as others do. It's the idea not only that they think they have less than others, but that they were supposed to have so much more. When you are denied the power, the success, or even the relationships that you think are your right, you either believe that you are broken or you believe that you have been stolen from.

February air slid into the thin material of Kami's dress like a sly pickpocket, warmth stolen before she knew it.

THE earliest theory of salvation is the Egyptian theory. The Egyptian Mystery System had as its most important object, the deification of man, and taught that the soul of man if liberated from its bodily fetters, could enable him to become godlike and see the Gods in this life and attain the beatific vision and hold communion with the Immortals (Ancient Mysteries, C. H. Vail, P. 25).

The United States of America has a white majority that remembers a history of discovery, opportunity, expansion, and exceptionalism.  Meanwhile our communities of color have the lived experiences of stolen lands, broken treaties, slavery, Jim Crowe laws, Indian removal, ethnic cleansing, lynchings, boarding schools, mass incarceration, and families separated at our boarders.  Our country does not have a common memory.

I stole your heart in the back of your Rogue, With only the moon as our light, In our special place that nobody knows, Our love was born in the night, Incandescent feelings between us, We felt our bodies ignite

I saw the bodies bearing the mark of their oppression, of their stolen labor, and now their holy dead. Their bodies were hieroglyphs of their exploitation, their blood and bodies taken, their lungs turned to silica stone.

This unfortunate position of the African Continent and its peoples appears to be the result of misrepresentation upon which the structure of race prejudice has been built, i.e. the historical world opinion that the African Continent is backward, that its people are backward, and that their civilization is also backward.

Finally, the dishonesty in the movement of the publication of a Greek philosophy, becomes very glaring, when we refer to the fact, purposely that by calling the theorem of the Square on the Hypotenuse, the Pythagorean theorem, it has concealed the truth for centuries from the world, who ought to know that the Egyptians taught Pythagoras and the Greeks, what mathematics they knew.

Harrison Salisbury When Amor Towles was ten years old, he threw a bottle containing a short note he had written into the Atlantic Ocean. A few weeks later he received a letter from the man who found it: Harrison Salisbury, the managing editor of The New York Times. From this childhood incident, a correspondence developed between Salisbury and Towles and they eventually met. In his earlier career, Harrison Salisbury was the real-life chief correspondent for The New York Times in Moscow. The author of an important history of the Russian Revolution, Black Nights, White Snow, his memoirs were the source of some of the detail Towles uses in A Gentleman in Moscow. Salisbury’s cameo appearance in the novel, along with the mention of his fedora and trench coat (stolen by the Count as a disguise) pay tribute to Salisbury’s literary legacy on early twentieth century Russia as well as the author’s serendipitous connection with him.

Ancient Rome, who through the edicts of her Emperors Theodosius in the 4th century A.D. and Justinian in the 6th century A.D. abolished the Mysteries of the African Continent; that is the ancient culture system of the world. The higher metaphysical doctrines of those Mysteries could not be comprehended; the spiritual powers of the priests were unsurpassed; the magic of the rites and ceremonies filled the people with awe; Egypt was the holy land of the ancient world and the Mysteries were the one, ancient and holy Catholic religion, whose power was supreme. This lofty culture system of the Black people filled Rome with envy, and consequently she legalized Christianity which she had persecuted for five long centuries, and set it up as a state religion and as a rival of Mysteries, its own mother. This is why the Mysteries have been despised; this is why other ancient religions of the Black people are despised; because they are all offspring of the African Mysteries, which have never been clearly understood by Europeans, and consequently have provoked their prejudice and condemnation. In keeping with the plan of Emperors Theodosius and Justinian to exterminate and forever suppress the culture system of the African continents the Christian church established its missionary enterprise to fight against what it has called paganism.

the four cardinal virtues, justice, wisdom,temperance, and courage.

no more stolen moments, let alone hours, in which to discover each other . . . from now on, they were formally betrothed, and that betrothal had its own rules. Maddening, perhaps intentionally so. Luci filched another stuffed date from the tray a sleepy maidservant was carrying back to the kitchen, and followed her father into the library. Her uncle and grandfather, already relaxed in chairs by the fireplace, looked up as she came in. "Luci, you should be in bed." "Papa, I'm not sleepy." He raised his eyebrows at her, but she didn't move. "Papa, I had a message cube from Esmay today." Her uncle Casimir sighed. "Esmay . . . now there's another problem. Berthold, did you get anywhere in the Landsmen's Guild?" "Nowhere. Oh, Vicarios won't oppose us, but that's because of Luci, and his support is half-hearted. It would be different if she hadn't left so young, I think. They don't really remember her, and even though they awarded her the Starmount, and consider her a hero, they do not want a Landbride—any Landbride but especially our Landbride—connected to an outlander family. Cosca told me frankly that even if she moved here, and also her husband, he would oppose it. Nothing good ever came from the stars, he insisted." "And the votes?" "Enough for a challenge, Casi, I'm sure of it. No, the only way out of this is for Esmaya to come and talk to them herself." "Or resign." "Or resign, but—will she?" Luci spoke up. "She mentioned that in her cube." "What—resigning? Why?" "Her precious Fleet seems to think about us the way the Landsmen's Guild thinks about them. She says they have some kind of regulation forbidding officers to marry Landbrides." Her father snorted. "Do they have one forbidding officers to be Landbrides? How ridiculous!" "Are you serious?" Casimir asked. "They have something specific about Landbrides? How would they know?" "I don't know," Luci said. "That's just what she said. And she said why didn't we take in all those women brought back from Our Texas—she was sure they'd fit in." A stunned silence, satisfying by its depth and length. "She what?" Casimir said finally. "Aren't those women—" "Free-birthers and religious cultists," Luci said, with satisfaction. "Exactly." "But—but the priests will object," Berthold said. "Not as badly as the Landsmen's Guild, if they hear of it. Dear God, I thought she had more sense than that!" "She is in love," Luci pointed out, willing now to be magnanimous. "Apparently Fleet is taking Barin's salary to pay for their upkeep—at least some of it—and Esmay's trying to help him out. Nineteen of them, after all, and all those children." "At our expense." Casimir shook his head. "Well, that settles it. She'll have to resign, as soon as I can get word to her. The Trustees will certainly not approve this, if I were willing to let it be known." He gave Luci a hard look. "You didn't tell Philip, I hope." "Of course not." Luci glared at her uncle. Esmay might not have any sense, but she knew what the family honor required. "I hope she does name you Landbride, Luci," Casimir said. "You'll be a good one." Luci had a sudden spasm of doubt. Was she being fair to Esmay, who after all had had so many bad things happen to her? But underneath the doubt, the same exultation she had felt when Esmay gave her the brown mare . . . mine, it's mine, I can take care of it, nobody can hurt it . . . "I wonder if we could place an ansible call," Casimir said. "Surely it's not that urgent,

But Gecko Moon was apparently run by cattle and snagor barons who liked to start wars and raid each other’s establishments, sometimes with deadly results. Fortunately,

his movements had a frantic edge to them. He must have felt challenged—if not overwhelmed—as he struggled to attack and defend at the same time against so many. She

since cleaning had been neglected previously, Jelena assumed she was the responsible house elf. “Although,

Jelena flew so slowly that they would have fallen out of the sky if they’d been anywhere with respectable gravity. The

windier than a glowworm,

A normal man would be more solicitous if he got a pretty young woman in a private cabin with him.

The girl who gave everything deserves to live a long and happy life with the man who has stolen her heart, and my sacrifice means she can have that.

I get it. Sex is still new to you, right? You’re the one that has no idea about the difference. Sex isn’t all hearts and butterflies, stolen glances and going to bed in the dark naked, Chloe. There are all different kinds of sex, fun sex, angry sex, make-up sex, hard and fast, slow and sweet, kinky, freaky, quiet, sneaky …

I’ve bore witness to two prime examples that there are good men left in the world. Loyal men. Faithful men. Though thieves they may be because they’ve stolen my heart.—Cecelia, Flock

Most of us are banged up, bandaged, or in physical pain in some form or another due to the battle that started the minute Dom lost his. A fight we all lost, no matter how many of us escaped breathing because the aftermath is fucking excruciating. Our new reality surreal. One in which our magnet no longer exists. Flashes of my brother shutter in. The day we met. Our first late-night bike ride. Sharing our first stolen beer. Coughing through our first joint. Our high school homeroom theatrics. The shared pains of growing from boys to men.

We have always been more. From the moment I saw you slip into that Alcove was stolen chocolate, I knew you were mine. The fates always have their way, Tessa, and this will be no different.

Well?” the guard who discovered me prompted. “I recognize her,” Saadi answered, staring directly at the woman. “She works for my sister as an errand girl.” I briefly closed my eyes in relief. Saadi waved the guard back to her post and issued an order to the man behind him to retrieve his cloak. When it was thrust into his hands, he escorted me back across the base, not speaking until we were out of earshot of those on patrol. “So, Rava has a message for me?” I shoved him unthinkingly, teasingly, and he laughed, jumping away. “You wanted to see me, remember?” I pointed out. “But you never picked a time or place!” “So you decided to do it for me. Fair enough, but I’m dying to know what you have in mind to do.” “I don’t have anything in mind.” We had reached the thoroughfare, and he chuckled. “You braved Cokyrian soldiers and the stronghold of the military base, but don’t have a thing in mind for us to do?” “That’s right,” I admitted, irritated that he was laughing at me. “Would you grow up please?” “Shaselle, there’s nothing ‘grown-up’ about what we’re doing. I assume you snuck away from home to see me, and I have a five o’clock call in the morning.” I came to a halt and turned to face him, my eyes issuing a challenge. “If you want to go back, feel free. Tell those soldiers that Rava just wanted to make sure her baby brother went to bed on time.” He grinned, enjoying my feisty responses, and smoothed his bronze hair forward, a habit I still found annoying. It also served to make my heart flutter. “Trust me, I’ve survived many a night without sleep.” He came closer, putting his hands on my hips, and I spontaneously leaned in to kiss him. He drew me close, his mouth more hungry than it had been in the barn, and a tingle ran from my lips to my toes. Then I pulled away, smiling mischievously, loving how reckless my actions were. He took my hand, kissing each of my fingers before tugging me down the street. “Come on, Shaselle.” “Where are we going?” Saadi didn’t answer, but led me in the direction of the Market District. As a Cokyrian solider on horseback trotted by, he pulled me into the shadows of a storefront, placing a finger upon his lips. “I’ve thought of something for us to do,” he whispered. “Since you came so unprepared.” Once more he took my hand, and I went with him blindly, happily, until we reached the shop from which I’d stolen fruit and wine when I’d run away from home. “What are you--?” He gave the door a strong kick, and I winced at the crack of the wood in the stillness. “Saadi!” I hissed, glancing around, expecting the mounted Cokyrian to come galloping back. He ignored me, pushing the door open. “Come on now. No errand girl of Rava’s would be such a coward!

Listen, I haven’t even seen half of what there is to see in Hytanica. You could show me one day.” “You seem to be everywhere in this city,” I scoffed. “There can’t be much left for you to explore. Or have you just been following me around?” “Well, you’re the most interesting feature of the city I’ve come across.” He smirked, and I gave him a sideways glance. Was he admitting to stalking me? Then he chuckled. “As long as I’m assigned to oversee the city, we’re bound to run into each other. I would be lying, however, if I denied that I look forward to our encounters.” Heat again flooded my face. Saadi was making me uncomfortable. I was in danger of liking him too much. “That reminds me,” I said. “I owe you for a lock.” I glanced to see that Dahnath was still talking to Drael. He was holding her hands, preparing to depart. Knowing from the general length of their goodbyes that it would be at least five minutes more, I removed a coin from my pocket. Saadi grinned. “I thought you had forgotten.” “Not at all.” I pressed the coin into his hand. “But you have to go. My sister will be coming to find me at any moment. She can’t see us together or she’ll tell my mother and probably Cannan. We could both end up in dismal straits.” I expected him to ridicule me for being afraid of my mother, but he did not. “What do you say, Shaselle? Two days from now I’ll be off duty.” “You really want to see me?” “Yes,” he confirmed, pale blue eyes sparkling, his bronze hair sticking erratically up in front. “All right then.” “Wonderful. I can meet you whenever, wherev--” “On one condition.” His smile faded and his tone grew wary. “Which is?” “I’ll spend a day with you only if you can beat me in a horse race.” He laughed and shook his head. “Of course I can beat you.” “Then prove it. We’ll each pick a mount and race--I’ll need to borrow one from your Cokyrian stables. Take it or leave it. Either way, I have to go now. But I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you, boy.” He smiled, intrigued by my challenge. “I’ll take it, but let’s raise the stakes. Make it more worthwhile.” Curious, I motioned for him to go on. “If I win, you agree to spend two days with me, when I’m off duty. If you win, you get to keep the horse you chose to ride.” I stared into his eyes for a long moment, until I was certain he wasn’t toying with me. He knew as well as I did that I would choose one of my father’s horses--one that had been stolen by his sister. He was giving me a chance to bring one of them home. My spirits soared, and I extended my hand. Saadi shook it, then shoved the basket at me, turning to stride away. Just in time, too, for Dahnath was approaching.

The abolition occurred just as it became clear that much of the wealth that had been seemingly created in the Roaring Nineties was nothing more than a phantasm, that much of the wealth was “stolen” property, acquired through misleading accounting and tax scams, in an economy where corporate governance had failed, and failed badly. But for the lucky few who had cashed in, there was the basis to found a new set of dynasties. At least the railroad barons of the nineteenth century, who used political influence to attain their riches, left behind a legacy of railroads, of hard capital, which bound the country together and energized its growth. What was the legacy of so many of the dot-com millionaires and billionaires, the executives of Enron, Global Crossing, WorldCom, and Adelphi, other than the horror stories which would regale future generations?

In 1717, the iconic silver star was embedded on a white marble floor in the Cave of the Nativity upon the spot where Jesus was said to have been born.[125] This was inscribed with the text “Here Jesus Christ was born of the Virgin Mary.”[126] In 1847 this star was stolen – an event that is said to have been a contributing factor in the beginning of the Crimean War (1854–1856).

She abruptly understood why ranchers usually rode horses or thrust bikes to herd their charges. After shaking off her sandaled foot

cool water waited in troughs inside.

When I see a person walking among us who has answered all his questions and contradictions . . . I wonder whether he is living on another planet, outside our world of tears and vicissitudes, of torments and stolen hopes. . . . As for me, I prefer a mind confused, erratic, and restless over a mind without trouble that is silent about the truths it holds dear. —Berl Katznelson

Most relationships were an exchange. You give me this; I give you that. The currency varied but the rules remained the same. Emotions were a tool, and loyalty could be stolen like anything else.

I’m furious with you,” he says. “When we lost you, I couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone had stolen the oxygen from the world.

How can I be ? Proud of my struggle, but having nothing to show. Guns , petrol, tires , gas, everything blows Now I am standing on top of Museum building burned into ashes. It Is smoke in the mirrors. Look at our Repercussions. Our legacy, our reputation. Canvas and portraits of arrogance Lies, deception, fractions results of politicians Insurrection results of a failed mission Blood used to paint our image Poor quality in this fotos, because nothing changed. You might think it is the 80’s, because you can see tribalism and racism. A perfect black and white picture. Sound of freedom turned into sound of violence, Ambulance, Police siren , people crying and dying Hunger and poverty used as tourists attraction They say look more poorer, so we can get more donation. I am getting global media coverage, Because I am queuing and walking long distance for food, Not because we are getting killed , abused and treated unfairly. They look at me and say Africa is starving Took my pics , post them on social media. Now they are laughing. Being born with a price tag, that says you not worth it, because your black. Government looted everything from the poor Now the poor are looting the government. It is like a stolen movie. Those who started it all and who are behind it, are not getting their credit and spotlight . If we change looting to colonization , then they would be heroes. Not sure whether to say goodbye or good night Because when you're in Phoenix , this might be your last night. 

Certainly, they knew they were usurping what they had never produced, and as we enter step by step into our study the greater do we discover evidence which leads us to the conclusion that Greek philosophers were not the authors of Greek philosophy, but the Egyptian Priests and Hierophants.

Only a brief study of history is necessary to show that Greek philosophers were undesirable citizens, who throughout the period of their investigations were victims of relentless persecution, at the hands of the Athenian government. Anaxagoras was imprisoned and exiled; Socrates was executed; Plato was sold into slavery and Aristotle was indicted and exiled; while the earliest of them all, Pythagoras, was expelled from Croton in Italy. Can we imagine the Greeks making such an about turn, as to claim the very teachings which they had at first persecuted and openly rejected?

It’s our ideal fantasy made true. Stolen from our darkest desires and brought to life with magic from the pool. The magic sensed our fantasy and created the perfect place for our coupling to occur.

Vagabond Poet (Sonnet 1044) No matter how much they plagiarize my work, I won't say a word to condemn. No matter how much they monetize solar energy, you never hear the sun complain! It's okay that limited minds got to care about such matter. What does the ocean care about a few buckets of stolen water! I am infinite, I am unbound - Come, steal all I've got, strip me of all my legacy! I started out as a vagabond, I'll gladly perish in vagabondcy.

This is the legacy of the African continent to the nations of the world,” George James says in Stolen Legacy, which “laid the foundations of modern progress.” Later, the Greeks and other whites managed to steal all these civilized skills from the African man, leaving him in darkness. When he heard this, the liberal historian Arthur Schlesinger asked skeptically, “How does one lose knowledge by sharing it?

These people from the North Africa did more than merely distinguish themselves in Spain. They were really the recognized custodians of African Culture, to whom the world looks for enlightenment.

... how Al rescued Mrs. Maria Adamo’s stolen washtub and used it as a weapon in a fight with an Irish gang that disrespected Italian women.

The inability of people to accept accountability for doing things that are wrong is in the DNA of America. It's why people can't accept that America was founded on land stolen from indigenous people and that Black people are still feeling the legacy of slavery.

Mara, I leave you not with my words but with the words of Emily Dickinson, my most beloved poet. I can think of no better way to call you to rise to the legacy which I bequeath to you. We never know how high we are Till we are called to rise; And then, if we are true to plan, Our statures touch the skies. The heroism we recite Would be a daily thing, Did not ourselves the cubits warp For fear to be a king. Mara understood now what she would do. She would rise. She would let The Chrysalis glide with unfettered wings toward its own uncertain destiny, but she would not yet let the other Strasser paintings go. Each of the paintings told a story more layered and complex than its provenance alone could ever reveal—a story of the passions, hopes, and dreams of the artist, subject, patron, and owners. Mara would set out to uncover these paintings’ deeper lineages and tie the paintings to their past so they could achieve the full destinies that had been stolen from them. Like the Saint Peter of Michael’s etchings, who had been exhorted that “whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in Heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in Heaven,” she would tether their future to their past. thirty-six HAARLEM, 1662 THE BURGOMASTER SEES THEIR LONG GAZES.

Free, pure, Christlike; tawny, black, the Devil - these were their notions of self and others. And it is by this formula that the early white Americans could abide the contradictions inherent in founding a nation based on principles of life and liberty on property that was stolen land.

When society is constantly telling you that you are not supposed to be facing any of these problems, because you are a white man, your anger will convince you that somebody has stolen what should be yours.

What was stolen from me cannot define me. What I build from the ruins of my past will be my legacy