Sulk Quotes

Authors: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Categories: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
to let the actions of a deluded dictator shape your very notions of what this nation was, is and will continue to be, is to give that dictator far more power than he ever stole for himself. To allow the unconscionable dealings of a minority deform and mutate what it means to be Egyptian is just as great an unconscionable act. A nation is its people, and we're 85 million strong. Even if you were to fill the high walls of Tora with every last fraudulent being to have ever roamed the land, as a percentage of the total population what you'd probably end up with is, well, a footnote... is it not pride-pride in our nation and nationality in our history and heritage-that catalysed the revolution? Without it, why even bother? Deep down, beneath the national disappointment, depression and devastation, there must have been an unshakable pride. A pride that was hurt by the regime. And when that hurt got so bad, the nation acted out. It collectively said, 'Screw this and screw you... What we witnessed in Tahrir [January 25, 2011] was a protective instinct that chased the British out of Egypt and gave the Square the very soul-stirring name we know it by. The same pride that had us wrench back control of our Suez Canal and the same sense of patriotism that, in 2011 BC, had the ancients rise up against a fearsome ruler who had reigned supreme for 94 long years. Not bad considering the Pharaohs didn't even have Facebook... And even if, God forbid, scary men-with excess facial hair who insist on sporting clothing in that terribly unflattering midi-length-were to somehow wrench control of this nation, I would still be proud to be an Egyptian. Although I'd probably sulk off to some city where the authorities allowed me to attract men using only the power of my hair. The term to revolt 'against' something only tells half the story. you don't just revolt 'against' a regime or an oppressor. You revolt for freedom, for democracy, for a better life. You revolt on behalf of a deep-seated faith that things should be better. And in that sense there were millions revolting long before the nation descended upon Tahrir. Those who insisted on staying in Egypt and investing their skills in the homeland, despite daily difficulties... they were revolting. Those who fought against red tape, ignorance, ingratitude, and evil temptations to build clean and credible businesses, however big or small... they were revolting. Those who worked for a pittance, even though they knew their education and skills entitled them to so much more-the doctors, nurses, teachers, and the civil servants... they too were revolting. They could have given up and said, 'Why bother? It can't be done.' But the very act of waking up each morning and getting down to business, the very act of survival, was a revolutionary one. Those-to paraphrase the poem-who held on when there was nothing in them, except the will which said to them to hold on... they were all revolting.

Amy Mowafi
I was standing lost, sunk, my hands in my pockets, gazing toward Tinker Mountain and feeling the earth reel down. All at once, I saw what looked like a Martian spaceship whirling towards me in the air. It flashed borrowed light like a propeller. Its forward motion greatly outran its fall. As I watched, transfixed, it rose, just before it would have touched a thistle, and hovered pirouetting in one spot, then twirled on and finally came to rest. I found it in the grass; it was a maple key... Hullo. I threw it into the wind and it flew off again, bristling with animate purpose, not like a thing dropped or windblown, pushed by the witless winds of convection currents hauling round the world's rondure where they must, but like a creature muscled and vigorous, or a creature spread thin to that other wind, the wind of the spirit that bloweth where it listeth, lighting, and raising up, and easing down. O maple key, I thought, I must confess I thought, o welcome, cheers. And the bell under my ribs rang a true note, a flourish of blended horns, clarion, sweet, and making a long dim sense I will try at length to explain. Flung is too harsh a word for the rush of the world. Blown is more like it, but blown by a generous, unending breath. That breath never ceases to kindle, exuberant, abandoned; frayed splinters spatter in every direction and burgeon into flame. And now when I sway to a fitful wind, alone and listing, I will think, maple key. When I see a photograph of earth from outer space, the planet so startlingly painterly and hung, I will think, maple key. When I shake your hand or meet your eyes, I will think two maple keys. If I am maple key falling, at least I can twirl. Thomas Merton wrote, 'There is always a temptation to diddle around in the contemplative life, making itsy-bitsy statues.' There is always an enormous temptation in all of life to diddle around making itsy-bitsy friends and meals and journeys for itsy-bitsy years on end. It's no self-conscious, so apparently moral, simple to step aside from the gaps where the creeks and winds pour down, saying, I never merited this grace, quite rightly, and then to sulk along the rest of your days on the edge of rage. I won't have it. The world is wilder than that in all directions, more dangerous and bitter, more extravagant and bright. We are making hay when we should be making whoopee; we are raising tomatoes when we should be raising Cain, or Lazarus. Ezekiel excoriates false prophets who have 'not gone up into the gaps.' The gaps are the thing. The gaps are the spirit's one home, the altitudes and latitudes so dazzlingly spare and clean that the spirit can discover itself for the first time like a once blind man unbound. The gaps are the cliffs in the rock where you cower to see the back parts of God; they are the fissures between mountains and cells the wind lances through, the icy narrowing fjords splitting the cliffs of mystery. Go up into the gaps. If you can find them; they shift and vanish too. Stalk the gaps. Squeak into a gap in the soil, turn, and unlock- more than a maple- a universe. This is how you spend the afternoon, and tomorrow morning, and tomorrow afternoon. Spend the afternoon. You can't take it with you.

Annie Dillard