Whatever happened in those more than one hundred years, from the time my great-great-great grandfather studied law to the time when my own father took his bar exam in 1989, I may never know. Perhaps it was just greed and the good, old-fashion corruption that comes with power. The Drexlers have moved from the fight for human rights to the fight for corporations and wealthy individuals. We file their taxes, write their contracts, clean up their messes. As I see it, we have become little more than glorified Public Relations reps

To understand how that astounding moral blindness was possible, it is helpful to think of the workers of an armament plant who rejoice in the 'stay of execution' of their factory thanks to big new orders, while at the same time honestly bewailing the massacres visited upon each other by Ethiopians and Eritreans; or to think how it is possible that the 'fall in commodity prices' may be universally welcomed as good news while 'starvation of African children' is equally universally, and sincerely, lamented.

We have flattered ourselves by inventing proverbs of comparison in matter of blindness,--"blind as a bat," for instance. It would be safe to say that there cannot be found in the animal kingdom a bat, or any other creature, so blind in its own range of circumstance and connection, as the greater majority of human beings are in the bosoms of their families. Tempers strain and recover, hearts break and heal, strength falters, fails, and comes near to giving way altogether, every day, without being noted by the closest lookers-on.

In the entire works of the Jewish historian Josephus (37-c. 100 CE), which constitute hundreds of pages, there are only two paragraphs that purport to refer to Jesus. Although much has been made of these 'references,' they have been dismissed by many scholars and even by Christian apologists as forgeries, as have been those referring to John the Baptist and James, 'brother' of Jesus. Bishop Warburton (1698-1779) labeled the Josephus interpolation regarding Jesus as 'a rank forgery, and a very stupid one, too.

When we're in the story, when we're part of it, we can't know the outcome. It's only later that we think we can see what the story was. But do we ever really know? And does anybody else, perhaps, coming along a little later, does anybody else really care? ... History is written by the survivors, but what is that history? That's the point I was trying to make just now. We don't know what the story is when we're in it, and even after we tell it we're not sure. Because the story doesn't end.

Bertahun-tahun lamanya aku sangat ingin menjadi sahabat Amerika, tetapi mereka tak menerimaku. Amerika berulang-ulang salah mengartikan bantuan asing dengan persahabatan. Amerika, aku memerlukan pengertianmu. Aku berteriak-teriak untuk itu. Dan bukan karena aku ingin sesuatu darimu. Tentu saja aku membutuhkan bantuan. Aku tidak bisa berdiri sendiri. Aktu tidak ingin berdiri sendiri. Aku berulang-ulang meminta kepada Amerika pengertian, bukan dollarnya, tetapi aku tidak akan, aku tidak bisa, aku tidak mau mengemis-ngemis untuk itu.

...In our days many men have lived in this cruel manner, crushed against the bottom, but each for a relatively short period; so that we can perhaps ask ourselves if it is necessary or good to retain any memory of this exceptional human state. To this question we feel that we have to reply in the affirmative. We are in fact convinced that no human experience is without meaning or unworthy of analysis, and that fundamental values, even if they are not positive, can be deduced from this particular world which we are describing…

Black seamen - or "Black Jacks" as African sailors were known - enjoyed a refreshing world of liberty and equality. Even if they were generally regulated to jobs such as cooks, servants, and muscians and endured thier fellow seamen's racism, they were still freemen in the Royal Navy. One famous black sailor wrote, "I liked this little ship very much. I now became the captian's steward, in which I was very happy; for I was extremely well treated by all on board, and I had the leisure to improve myself in reading and writing.

Now she could smell what the jaguar could smell, odors deeper and richer than anything she had experienced before, layers of smell she could read like Fray Tomás had read the words in her father’s book: the wet decay of leaves, the death fear of a mouse, the poisonous cloy of datura, water and mud and insects, the wind carrying the smell of other animals, the wind itself, and the girl, of course, always the girl with her juicy flesh. The girl smelled incredibly good. Should the jaguar do this? Should Teresa eat herself?

The man who had asked my name in Obersalzberg in the summer of 1934 had been a dominant personality excluding a spellbinding charisma to which few were not prey. The embodied sovereign power, total power. The man whom I burnt and interred under a hail of Red Army shells near the Reich Chancellery was a trembling old man, a spent force, feeble, a failure. Like the Reich which he had aimed to bring into an era of unparalleled brilliance and opulence and had become a heap of rubble, he was the disfigured embodiment of his earlier self.

Seseorang jangan melibatkan dirinya ke dalam perjuangan hidup-mati, jika dia sebelumnya tidak insyaf akan akibatnya. Pihak musuh akan memgerahkan segala daya, lagi dan lagi, agar dapat mempertahankan cengkramannya. Tapi, sekalipun selama berabad-abad mereka menjebloskan puluhan ribu dari kita ke penjara dan masih saja mengirimkan kita ke tempat pembuangan yang jauh dari kehidupan manusia, saatnya akan tiba bahwa mereka akan hancur dan kita akan mendapat kemenangah. Kemenangan kita adalah suatu keharusan sejarah, tidak bisa dielakkan.

As to Science, she has never sought to ally herself to civil power. She has never attempted to throw odium or inflict social ruin on any human being. She has never subjected anyone to mental torment, physical torture, least of all to death, for the purpose of upholding or promoting her ideas. She presents herself unstained by cruelties and crimes. But in the Vatican—we have only to recall the Inquisition—the hands that are now raised in appeals to the 'Most Merciful' are crimsoned. They have been steeped in blood!

The ascendancy over men's minds of the ruins of the stupendous past, the past of history, legend and myth, at once factual and fantastic, stretching back and back into ages that can but be surmised, is half-mystical in basis. The intoxication, at once so heady and so devout, is not the romantic melancholy engendered by broken towers and mouldered stones; it is the soaring of the imagination into the high empyrean where huge episodes are tangled with myths and dreams; it is the stunning impact of world history on its amazed heirs.

Think about it. People in the sixteenth century - not to mention in Jesus's time - didn't look like this: perfect skin, perfect hairdos, spotless clothes. These are people who went to the bathroom in the street, for God's sake. There's no way they looked like this. But that's how we're going to remember them. Our alabaster past. When nothing else is left, art will become the truth of the time. Then people will get to the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and wonder what happened - how we all became so imperfect.

Engkau tahu apa artinya Indonesia? Indonesia adalah pohon yang kuat dan indah itu. Indinesia adalah langit yangbiru dan terang itu. Indonesia adalah mega putih yang bergerak pelan itu. Ia adalah udara yang hangat.Saudara-saudaraku yang tercinta, laut yang menderu-deru memukul-mukul ke pantai di waktu senja, bagiku adalah jiwanya Indonesia yang bergolak dalam gemuruhnya gelombang samudera. Bila kudengar anak-anak tertawa, aku mendengar Indinesia. Bila aku menghirup untaian bunga, aku menghirup Indonesia. Inilah arti tanah air kita bagiku.