The fist of a revolutionist must be hard like a gravestone; if not, his own gravestone will soon be erected!
An ant can't make a revolution, but a monkey can do; because it owns a fist! No real revolution is ever possible without fist.
Just be patient, she told herself, and with the mounting pages, the strength of her writing fist grew.
He is a foole that makes a wedge of his fist.
Most of those men don’t want to sleep with you,” he said in blunt rebuttal. “I reserve the right to introduce my fist to the faces of the ones who do.
Raise your hands in the air, pump your fists, and solemnly swear to rock the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrist? And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists? And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air? Oh they're taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.
The resistance to praying is like the resistance of tightly clenched fists. This image shows a tension, a desire to cling tightly to yourself, a greediness which betrays fear.
You take five fingers. Individually, I can pin any one of them, but if I pin them together (makes a fist), it's damn near impossible to turn this around.
An inventor's path is chorused with groans, riddled with fist-banging and punctuated by head scratches.
Of course, it is boring to read about boring thing, but it is better to read something that makes you yawn with boredom than something that will make you weep uncontrollably, pound your fists against the floor, and leave tearstains all over your pillowcase, sheets, and boomerang collection.
hold your head high and keep those fists down - Atticus Finch
You have to come to the world of enlightenment with open hands, not clinched fists, without an agenda.
There's at least one fist bump every interview.
But if you must be clever, then be clever. Be brave. Sleep with fists closed and shoot straight.
A team is a fist-not five fingers.
Entropy shakes its angry fist at you for being clever enough to organize the world. (p 2)
Dear God, I am so afraid to open my clenched fists! Who will I be when I have nothing left to hold on to? Who will I be when I stand before you with empty hands? Please help me to gradually open my hands and to discover that I am not what I own, but what you want to give me.
The pain of hope dying is worse than his fists and boots.
My right to swing my fist ends where your nose begins.