We first crush people to the earth, and then claim the right of trampling on them forever, because they are prostrate.
Interpretation
This quote reflects on the moral responsibility of those in power to recognize the humanity of the oppressed rather than perpetuating their suffering.
Lydia M. Child's quote comments on the morally dubious nature of societal structures that allow the strong to dominate the weak. It emphasizes that once people are brought down, there is a tendency for those in power to feel justified in maintaining that dominance indefinitely, highlighting the ethical implications of power dynamics and the need for compassion and justice.
In practice
In a discussion on social justice, one might quote this to highlight the need for accountability among those in power.
Nature made us individuals, as she did the flowers and the pebbles; but we are afraid to be peculiar, and so our society resembles a bag of marbles, or a string of mold candles. Why should we all dress after the same fashion? The frost never paints my windows twice alike.
Flowers have spoken to me more than I can tell in written words. They are the hieroglyphics of angels, loved by all men for the beauty of their character, though few can decipher even fragments of their meaning.
Misfortune is never mournful to the soul that accepts it; for such do always see that every cloud is an angel's face.
One of the quainter quirks of life is that we shall never know who dies on the dame day as we do ourselves.
e quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle" ("and thence we came forth to see again the stars")
Those who are accustomed to judge by feeling do not understand the process of reasoning, because they want to comprehend at a glance and are not used to seeking for first principles. Those, on the other hand, who are accustomed to reason from first principles do not understand matters of feeling at all, because they look for first principles and are unable to comprehend at a glance.
Many who seem to be struggling with adversity are happy; many, amid great affluence, are utterly miserable.
Requiescat Tread lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow. All her bright golden hair Tarnished with rust, She that was young and fair Fallen to dust. Lily-like, white as snow, She hardly knew She was a woman, so Sweetly she grew. Coffin-board, heavy stone, Lie on her breast, I vex my heart alone She is at rest. Peace, Peace, she cannot hear Lyre or sonnet, All my lifeβs buried here, Heap earth upon it.
Vanity is so frequently the apparent motive of advice that we, for the most part, summon our powers to oppose it without very accurate inquiry whether it is right. It is sufficient that another is growing great in his own eyes at our expense, and assumes authority over us without our permission; for many would contentedly suffer the consequences of their own mistakes, rather than the insolence of him who triumphs as their deliverer.
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