If our family was poor, of what did our poverty consist? If our clothes were torn the torn places only let in the sun and wind. In the winter we had no overcoats, but that only meant that we ran rather than loitered. Those who are to follow the arts should have a training in what is called poverty.
They began work at 5:30 and quit at 7 at night. Children six years old going home to lie on a straw pallet until time to resume work the next morning! I have seen the hair torn out of their heads by the machinery, their scalps torn off, and yet not a single tear was shed, while the poodle dogs were loved and caressed and carried to the seashore.
Mary Harris Jones
It is a solemn sight to see so many Christians lying in their blood, some here, and some there, like a company of sheep torn by wolves, all of them stripped naked by a company of hell-hounds, roaring, singing, ranting, and insulting, as if they would have torn our very hearts out; yet the Lord by His almighty power preserved a number of us from death, for there were twenty-four of us taken alive and carried captive
There is a strange emptiness to life without myths. I am African American - by which I mean, a descendant of slaves, rather than a descendant of immigrants who came here willingly and with lives more or less intact. My ancestors were the unwilling, unintact ones: children torn from parents, parents torn from elders, people torn from roots, stories torn from language. Past a certain point, my family's history just... stops. As if there was nothing there. I could do what others have done, and attempt to reconstruct this lost past. I could research genealogy and genetics, search for the traces of myself in moldering old sale documents and scanned images on microfiche. I could also do what members of other cultures lacking myths have done: steal. A little BS about Atlantis here, some appropriation of other cultures' intellectual property there, and bam! Instant historically-justified superiority. Worked great for the Nazis, new and old. Even today, white people in my neck of the woods call themselves 'Caucasian', most of them little realizing that the term and its history are as constructed as anything sold in the fantasy section of a bookstore. These are proven strategies, but I have no interest in them. They'll tell me where I came from, but not what I really want to know: where I'm going. To figure that out, I make shit up.
CUPID'S GUN TO OUR SOULS, HE JUST CAN'T TRIGGER CHEMISTRY NEED A LOT OF THINGS THAT YOU CAN'T REALLY GIVE TO ME I'M SCREAMING ON MUTE CAUSE YOU AIN'T REALLY HEARING ME THE HARDEST F*CKING LOVE IS WHERE YOU MAKE YOUR BIGGEST ENEMY FLASHBACK TO A YEAR AGO HAND IN HAND AND THE TRASH WITH A FEAR WOULD GO I DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW'S IT HAPPEN, WHERE DID IT GO ALL THE LOVE AND THE PASSION, ONCE IT WAS GOLD UH, IT'S GONE NOW WHEN I'M HERE, AND I'M THERE, AND I'M TORN NOW WHEN I'M HURT AND I'M BRUISED, AND I'M TORN DOWN AND I MADE SOME MISTAKES, BUT MATURE NOW AND I'VE TOUCHED MY REGRET THROUGH MY PAUSE NOW AND FELT HOW IT FEELS TO BE SURE NOW AND I KNOW WHAT IT MEANS TO DEPLORE NOW AND I KNOW WHAT IT MEANS TO ENDORSE LOVE AND I KNOW WHEN IT HURTS TO THE CORE NOW AND I'VE BURNT EVERY BRIDGE THAT I'VE TORN DOWN THEN I PICKED UP OUR HEART FROM THE FLOOR NOW AND I WANT AND I CRAVE ANYMORE NOW SO JUST GIVE ME ONE MORE CHANCE LAST ONE, JUST ONE MORE DANCE I KNOW WE GO BACK AND FORTH, BUT MY BACK'S TO THE WALL AND I'M BACK FOR MORE
He felt that he could not turn aside from himself the hatred of men, because that hatred did not come from his being bad (in that case he could have tried to be better), but from his being shamefully and repulsively unhappy. He knew that for this, for the very fact that his heart was torn with grief, they would be merciless to him. He felt that men would crush him as dogs strangle a torn dog yelping with pain. He knew that his sole means of security against people was to hide his wounds from them
There are times when you may feel your life has been crumpled, crushed, stomped on, or even torn in pieces. Your value and worth is not determined by what has happened to you, but rather by the value placed upon you by the one who governs your life (the one who created you in His image and likeness). The one who sees you as wonderfully and fearfully made... A $100 dollar bill can be crumpled, crushed, stomped on or even torn - it is still is worth $100. The value of the $100 dollar bill is not determined by what happened to it. To the government it will still spend as a $100; its value has not changed even if the state of its condition has. Even crumpled, it could be pressed out, crushed it could be pressed and smoothed out, or stomped on and torn, it could be taped back together and still be worth $100 in value. What may have happened to you in life does not define who you are. You are the apple of God's eye. You are His prize possession and treasure. You must see yourself as a person of worth and value.