Best 15 quotes in «statue of liberty quotes» category

Liberty is too precious a thing to be buried in books. Humans should hold it up in their hands every single day of their lives and say from the deepest fathoms of their soul – “I am free – to think – to speak – to act – the way a real, novel, civilized being should – my ancestors couldn’t, but I can, and my children will”.

If there is reincarnation, I'd like to come back as Warren Beatty's fingertips.

Don't you think the Golden Gate Bridge looks to the East in the same way the Statue of Liberty faces Europe, the Old World?' Mike now asked. 'That the Bridge and the Statue face in opposite directions, the Bridge is the end whereas the Statue is the beginning?' 'The Golden Gate Bridge should be understood symbolically,' Foucault responded, 'in the sense that it does not go from America back to America but that it should be something that could possibly open up out of America.

It is not for nothing that that vivacious lady is standing up there with the torch of liberty in her hand, as a beacon to the whole world - take a look at the world through her eyes, if you really want to see something – and you won’t just see scenery – you’ll see the whole parade of what humans have carved out for themselves after centuries of fighting – fighting so they could stand on their own two feet, free and decent, no matter their race, religion and creed.

It's not enough for the torch of liberty to be held up high only by one woman, every human must hold the torch up high in every corner of the world.

As Karl Rossmann, a poor boy of sixteen who had been packed off to America by his parents because a servant girl had seduced him and got herself with child by him, stood on the liner slowly entering the harbour of New York, a sudden burst of sunshine seemed to illumine the Statue of Liberty, so that he saw it in a new light, although he had sighted it long before. The arm with the sword rose up as if newly stretched aloft, and round the figure blew the free winds of heaven.

From where I stood, the Statue of Liberty was a flourescent green fleck against the sky, and beyond her sat Ellis Island, the focus of so many myths; but it had been built too late for those early Africans - who weren't immigrants in any case - and it had been closed too soon to mean anything to the later Africans like Kenneth, or the cabdriver, or me.

He greeted me in his usual attire - pajama pants. "Hey stranger!" he said, hugging me for a few long seconds. "I've already set up the board. Can I get you some rose" I nodded, overwhelmingly relieved to be with another human being - even if he was really a wolf in grandma's clothing. Or was he just a wolf in wolf's clothing? After all, he wore pajamas... Hmmm. I contemplated all this as he poured me a glass of wine. "Mind if I smoke?" he asked as he lit up a joint and motioned me over to the sleek brown couch. Italian, of course. Through the three windows that faced south, north, and west, I saw the Statue of Liberty, and Ellis Island, where I had paid to have my parents' names inscribed in the immigrant wall of honor. Some American Dream this was!

Hennie read the last lines of the pamphlet: “Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!” “That’s Emma Lazarus,” said Pa. “Is that her up there?” asked Hennie and pointed at Melinda Swanevelder in the Volvo. Pa said no, Emma Lazarus was an American poet. She wrote the poem that is engraved on the Statue of Liberty. The woman in the cab is Melinda Swanevelder. We found her in Vanderkloof.

Most of the faces around us were young but not teenagers. A good portion of the country's universities and colleges had been temporarily shut down due to lack of funding, but if a few still had money left, I guess Harvard would have been one of them. WE ARE YOUR TIRED, YOUR POOR, YOUR HUDDLED MASSES. . . read the sign next to me.

The Twin Towers stood out like an enormous number 11 looming over New York City, a familiar icon coupled with the Brooklyn Bridge, the Empire State building and the Statue of Liberty. Those towers were like the soul of lower Manhattan, alive in their own right.

Past the projects, the land opened up and water came into view. The breeze carried rain and salt. Jetties and barrier walls supported the shore, which was stacked with crumbling brick warehouses. Out in the channel, the Statue of Liberty stood alone on her little island, her corroding flame held high in the air as the sun set over the industrial shoreline and skyways of New Jersey. Across the narrows, the bluffs of Staten Island wavered in the smoky light of dusk that turned the Verrazano into bronze. Faint light burnished water into busy with freighters and tug boats. A lone sail boat flitted in the distance. On the near shore, on a slip of water between a jetty and the land, a blood red barge bobbed on the tide.

Thanks, Ms. Liberty! Is that a sari you're wearing? I hope not.

True meaning of America is not discrimination and segregation, it is equality and inclusion. And so long as that force of equality and inclusion runs through the veins of even ten Americans, no brainless bigot can succeed in poisoning the soul of our great land of liberty.

Guantanamo Bay is the anti-Statue of Liberty.