A Quote by Mark Helprin

Marxists are people whose insides are torn up day after day because they want to rule the world and no one will even publish their letter to the editor. — © Mark Helprin
Marxists are people whose insides are torn up day after day because they want to rule the world and no one will even publish their letter to the editor.
God, I love the "fine morality" of the wealthy and powerful. You'll spill tears over your own, in a heartbeat. And then never even look twice at people below you, whose very lives are ground under every day, day after day, year after year.
People move because of the wear and tear of anxiety. Because of the gnawing feeling that no matter how hard they work their efforts will yield nothing, that what they build up in one year will be torn down in one day by others. Because of the impression that the future is blocked up, that *they* might do all right but not their children. Because of the feeling that nothing will change, that happiness and prosperity are possible only somewhere else.
I'm the luckiest guy in the world. I wake up every day just fired up. My one rule is, don't let anyone pinch me, because I don't want to wake up.
I have the audacity to believe that peoples everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture for their minds, and dignity, equality and freedom for their spirits. I believe that what self-centered men have torn down men other-centered can build up. I still believe that one day mankind will bow before the altars of God and be crowned triumphant over war and bloodshed, and nonviolent redemptive good will proclaim the rule of the land.
I write a letter to my mother every day, because in that letter, I write down my day. And if I don't write it down, then tomorrow I will forget it and it's gone.
We provide food that customers love, day after day after day. People just want more of it.
How do people move on after they've lost the love of their life? It's a really interesting thing to look at. It happens to people every day: you see people... even in the worst, most war-torn places, people get up and continue with their lives. And it's a fascinating thing about human nature. That ability to just continue on.
If people want to be real meat eaters, I'd love to see people eat raw flesh from the bone, down to the bone with nothing left but the bones, day after day after day.
You may have to declare your forgiveness a hundred times the first day and the second day, but the third day will be less and each day after, until one day you will realize that you have forgiven completely. And then one day you will pray for his wholeness and give him over to me so that my love will burn from his life every vestige of corruption.
That's a terrible price to pay because you loved life so much, with the intensity of a thousand suns, and the women and all of it - and then it's all taken away from you. You end up walking the hallways of always to a place called tedium and apathy, day after day after day. Years go by.
Darling, You asked me to write you a letter, so I am writing you a letter. I do not know why I am writing you this letter, or what this letter is supposed to be about, but I am writing it nonetheless, because I love you very much and trust that you have some good purpose for having me write this letter. I hope that one day you will have the experience of doing something you do not understand for someone you love. Your father
With health care, once you set yourself up as the source for people's health care, not insurance, you own them. That way you have total control over how they must live in order to qualify for health care. And that's what Marxists want. Marxists and leftists do not trust individuals. They have contempt individuals won't do the right thing, the right thing being defined by what Marxists want.
Women never have a half-hour in all their lives (excepting before or after anybody is up in the house) that they can call their own, without fear of offending or of hurting someone. Why do people sit up so late, or, more rarely, get up so early? Not because the day is not long enough, but because they have 'no time in the day to themselves.' 1852
The radio was on and that was the first time I heard that song, the one I hate. Whenever I hear it all I can think of is that very day riding in the front seat with Lucy leaning against me and the smell of Juicy Fruit making me want to throw up. How can a song do that? Be like a net that catches a whole entire day, even a day whose guts you hate? You hear it and all of a sudden everything comes hanging back in front of you, all tangled up in that music.
This at least should be a rule through the letter-writing world: that no angry letter be posted till four-and-twenty hours will have elapsed since it was written.
The broken heart. You think you will die, but you just keep living, day after day after terrible day.
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