And clenching your fist for the ones like us Who are oppressed by the figures of beauty.
I now realize that just because you can take a punch does not mean you must stand in front of a fist, particularly not when the fist is your own.
Those who never rebelled against God or at some point in their lives shaken their fists in the face of heaven, have never encountered God at all.
Love will not always linger longest with those who hold it in too clenched a fist.
The point of women's liberation is not to stand at the door of the male world, beating our fists, and crying, 'Let me in, damn you, let me in!' The point is to walk away from the world and concentrate on creating a new woman.
Giving jump starts our relationship with God. It opens our fists so we can receive what God has for us.
Has he ever trapped you in a room and not let you out? Has he ever raised a fist as if he were going to hit you? Has he ever thrown an object that hit you or nearly did? Has he ever held you down or grabbed you to restrain you? Has he ever threatened to hurt you? If the answer to any of these questions is yes, then we can stop wondering whether he'll ever be violent; he already has been.
A man touched me: his hand. . . my thigh. I touched him too: my fist. . . his jaw.
I believe in using words, not fists.
Despite popular belief, hitting someone with a closed fist actually hurts the hitter almost as much as the hittee.
I've learned that in order to achieve what I wanted, it made more sense to negotiate than to defend the autonomy of my work by pounding my fist on the table.
I've never, ever, raised a fist to anybody in my life.
This country will not be a peaceful place for us to live if we do not make it to be a peaceful place with our fists.
My father told and taught me that the word, can hit harder than the fist.
I believe in using words, not fists. I believe in my outrage knowing people are living in boxes on the street. I believe in honesty. I believe in a good time. I believe in good food. I believe in sex.
Well this is just a fist. But when I start throwing it around I can leave one hell of a mess.
If I had a staff of even one person, or could tolerate a small amphetamine habit, or entertain the possibility of weekly blood transfusions, or had been married to Vera Nabokov, or had a housespouse of even minimal abilities, a literary life would be easier to bring about. (In my mind I see all your male readers rolling their eyes. But your female ones - what is that? Are they nodding in agreement? Are their fists in the air?)
My breathing was shallow and my hands were fists. 'Oh, yes, I'm going to have to kill you Barrons. ' I said coolly, Partly because, for the most miniscule sliver of an instant, while looking at those handcuffs, I'd imagined myself climbing back into bed and pretending I wasn't cured yet.
Only Hungry Joe had something better to do each time he finished his missions. He had screaming nightmares and won fist fights with Huple's cat.
Freedom to rock, freedom to talk. Freedom, raise your fist and yell.