The First Lady is an unpaid public servant elected by one person - her husband.
Lady Bird JohnsonRead
The clash of ideas is the sound of freedom.
Interpretation
The expression of differing ideas represents the essence of a free society.
This quote by Lady Bird Johnson suggests that the exchange and debate of varying ideas is fundamental to the concept of freedom. It highlights how differing viewpoints contribute to a vibrant democratic society, where individuals can express themselves and challenge one another, ultimately fostering growth and understanding.
In practice
In a discussion on the importance of free speech at a community forum.
The First Lady is an unpaid public servant elected by one person - her husband.
Any committee is only as good as the most knowledgeable, determined and vigorous person on it. There must be somebody who provides the flame.
I want us to know our world. If I lived in North Georgia on up through the Appalachians, I would be just as crazy about the mountain laurel as I am about [Texas] bluebonnets.
Children are apt to live up to what you believe of them.
Wildflowers are the stuff of my heart!
Become so wrapped up in something that you forget to be afraid.
He who gives only what he would as readily throw away, gives without generosity; for the essence of generosity is in self-sacrifice.
Ever since the economic crisis in 2008, millions of people have accepted cuts in all sorts of things - from real wages and living standards to benefits and hospital care - without any real opposition. The cuts may be right, or they may be stupid - but the astonishing thing is how no-one really challenges them.
Parents realize their wealth should be used for social good rather than children's good.
Our paradigm now seems to be: Something terrible happened to us on September 11, and that gives us the right to interpret all future events in a way that everyone else in the world must agree with us. And if they don't, they can go straight to hell.
In those days, we imagined ourselves as being kept in some kind of holding pen, waiting to be released into our lives. And when the moment came, our lives -- and time itself -- would speed up. How were we to know that our lives had in any case begun, that some advantage had already been gained, some damage already inflicted? Also, that our release would only be into a larger holding pen, whose boundaries would be at first undiscernible.
I'm not alive. People believe memories grow vague, are erased by time, since nothing endures against the passage of time. That's the difference; time does not pass over me, over us. It doesn't erase anything, doesn't undo it. I'm not a live. I died in Auschwitz but no one knows it.
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