Best 40 quotes of Psyche Roxas-mendoza on MyQuotes

27. So often, we go through our battles in private. As it was with me and with many of the women in my generation. We were taught and reared and molded to keep that stiff upper lip and to never explain in public how deeply some people have hurt us. I cannot get away from that mold. I am comfortable in it. I derive my sanity from it.

A "knowing" public is a consenting public. We know what is really going on. Time to do something about it.

A lie is more profitable than the truth. That is why we have elections.

Beware! Balance rules the cosmos. It is not concerned with good or bad. You can be struck by misfortune and be buried in grief if that is what it takes to restore the imbalance you have wrought unto the world.

Don't die famous. The things they will say you did and said would make you rise up in anger if you were alive.

Do you feel it? It’s a heightening of the senses, the kind that immobilizes a cat crossing the street, transfixed by the blinding headlights of a speeding car. You know you have to head for cover, run as far and as fast as your legs can carry you. But you can’t. You just have to know what’s coming—even if it kills you.

Every time I stand before a beautiful beach, its waves seem to whisper to me: If you choose the simple things and find joy in nature’s simple treasures, life and living need not be so hard.

Faith is one of only two things in mankind's consciousness that defies discussion. The other is one's marriage.

Fathers are the future's keepers, as it was in the beginning when the only begotten Son became Father to Man and the Great Circle of Father to Son; Son to Father began.

Guess life is really a road marked by crossroads. It's not the long and winding stretches that will hurt you the most. It's the crossroads. You make a bad choice and it's a tumble and a rumble before you get back on your feet again. But you'll get back on your feet. You'll find yourself. And then you'll be off to your next adventure (crossroads, I mean). In my case, I always had a safety net—my faith in God. But then, I'm more like the millions of simple folk who travel this world.

Hate is a very strong, pure emotion to be wasted on people you don't care about.

He was a son of the revolutionary movement when he and the revolutionary movement were still pristine. It was a special time for Filipino activists—a time when a hundred flowers bloomed and a thousand thoughts contended in a movement that did not know yet the price of betrayal from within. But flowers wilt and thoughts give way to rancor with the passing of years. And so some may grieve not his passing, while others fall to the ground in tears./FOR HORACIO BOY MORALES, JR. (September 11, 1943 – February 29, 2012)

I dream of a morning when Filipinos can wake up from the centuries-long sleep that took them from their past and denied them their destiny as a people.

In the age of social media, there is no such thing as "just an ordinary human being." Every time you post in social media, you harness the power to speak across time, place, and race. And that makes you extraordinary.

In the end, class will out. So much talk about helping the poor. It's all words and class interest— in the end.

In the end, history proved the Jews correct. Across time and place, memory lives on the tenacity of a people’s resolve never to forget—not just with words—but with an endless stream of concrete actions rushing every day, every hour, every minute, every second.

I once stood on a road and found I had no friends. And I was glad. Better to have no friends than to have people claim they were your friends when they were not. It is a source of strength to come to terms with your right to be alone.

It is in children that reality strikes the hardest. And yet, it is the children who weave the brightest dreams.

It is in the little moments that we live the longest. Everything else is existence.

It is the kernel of truth in every story that makes its writing beautiful beyond standards.

It’s just proper for old people to die. Otherwise, they’d go insane in a world too different from the one they knew.

Mass movements are a function of adaptation. Its pulse is change. A movement without mass is a cult. And it is in cults that stupid tyrants hold sway.

Not enough youths fighting windmills. And the old are fearful, jaded or dead. Do not ask me what to do. I am just as cowardly as you. And do not tell me it is enough to speak the truth; that it is bravery enough. Every mountain leveled to the ground, every forest burned, every man, woman, and child who lost their shanties to arsonist fires were defended to the heavens—with words.

Only two things in man’s consciousness defy discussion: faith and one’s marriage.

The best dreams are the dreams we made come true for the world.

The most difficult lesson is not being bitter—that balancing you need to do so you don't become bitter, even as you cease being gullible.

There are places I cannot visit. Places of unbearable sadness, grief, mourning. They say places are made by people. I say places are defined by the memories they conjure—the lunge of a curse, a shared and shattered history, a loved one drowned and lost in the ocean of forgetting.

There are those who live and die giving love, without receiving any. And those who live life just taking, never giving. So the universe gives a boon to a few lucky souls: Who they love will love them back—all their lives.

There is my truth. There is your truth. And there is their truth. The absolute truth is with God.

The road to home is when we find our hearts filled with the stories of our people.

The time we were together, we were the best we can be for each other.

The world is old and full of lessons. We will not lack for examples. We only have to look around carefully, earnestly, so we can learn and realize that success, to be genuine, must not be propelled by greed.

They say you start weaving clearer, sharper memories after you've been to a place at least twice. Because then the reflection is more of validation. Let the rush come to you and let your senses be flushed the first time. There will be time for reflection after you've had your fill.

Think about it: If you have saved just enough to have your own house, your own car, a modicum of income to pay for food, clothes, and a few conveniences, and your everyday responsibilities start and end only with yourself… You can afford not to do anything outside of breathing, eating, and sleeping. Time would be an endless, white blanket. Without folds and pleats or sudden rips. Monday would look like Sunday, going sans adrenaline, slow, so slow and so unnoticed. Flowing, flowing, time is flowing in phrases, in sentences, in talk exchanges of people that come as pictures and videos, appearing, disappearing, in the safe, distant walls of Facebook. Dial fast food for a pizza, pasta, a burger or a salad. Cooking is for those with entire families to feed. The sala is well appointed. A day-maid comes to clean. Quietly, quietly she dusts a glass figurine here, the flat TV there. No words, just a ho-hum and then she leaves as silently as she came. Press the shower knob and water comes as rain. A TV remote conjures news and movies and soaps. And always, always, there’s the internet for uncomplaining company. Outside, little boys and girls trudge along barefoot. Their tinny, whiny voices climb up your windowsill asking for food. You see them. They don’t see you. The same way the vote-hungry politicians, the power-mad rich, the hey-did-you-know people from newsrooms, and the perpetually angry activists don’t see you. Safely ensconced in your tower of concrete, you retreat. Uncaring and old./HOW EASY IT IS NOT TO CARE

To forgive, you must love the world and everything in it. Anything less is hypocrisy.

We bleed our sorrows dry on the chance that laughter will save what is left of our dignity

When you set man against the vastness of the cosmos, the only thing left is humility, a virtue he often discards in the heat of ambition.

Writers, when they’re good, open windows to worlds held precious and priceless by the soul. It is a sad day when they leave the earth, like having the windows shut for good. Where will the world be without good writers?

You can change your life or not change it. It really doesn’t matter in the end. Life as humans live it is too fleeting, too incidental, too miniscule for the universe to keep forever. So just do good to others; be good, all because it makes you happy, happy beyond fame, power, and eternity.

You will always be special to someone. Unless you grow so old, everyone you knew went ahead