“I hammered him with my fists. He just stood and took it. He didn't suffer graciously, he looked pissed off to no end. But he let me hit him. And he didn't hit me back.”
In this quote by Karen Marie Moning, the speaker describes a physical altercation where she is the aggressor, repeatedly hitting someone who does not fight back. The fact that the person being hit does not retaliate, despite looking angry, suggests a sense of control and restraint. This could be interpreted as a demonstration of strength through non-violence, as well as a refusal to engage in a destructive cycle of escalation. It also highlights the power dynamics at play in the situation, as the person being hit chooses not to respond in kind, potentially diffusing the conflict.
In this quote from author Karen Marie Moning, the character describes a situation where they physically assault someone who chooses not to respond in kind. This concept of non-violent resistance is still relevant today, as individuals and movements continue to use peaceful protest and resistance to stand up against oppression and injustice. The ability to exercise restraint in the face of aggression is a powerful tool for bringing about positive change in the world.
In this quote from Karen Marie Moning, the protagonist describes a situation where they physically attacked someone who chose not to retaliate. This example showcases the concept of suffering graciously and suppressing the instinct to respond with violence.
Reflecting on this quote from Karen Marie Moning, consider the following questions:
“I cast myself at him, like a fool, but he didn't see me. And then one day he noticed I was beautiful and he wanted me. He broke me off and took me with him, in his hands, and I didn't care that I was dying until I actually was.”
“And I have this stupid little thought that Aaron didn't survive the croc attack after all, that he died but he's so pissed off at me that dying didn't stop him from coming here to kill me anyway.”
“Everything was red, the air, the sun, whatever I looked at. Except for him. I fell in love with someone who was human. I watched him walk through the hills and come back in the evening when his work was through. I saw things no woman would see: that he knew how to cry, that he was alone. I cast myself at him, like a fool, but he didn't see me. And then one day he noticed I was beautiful and he wanted me. He broke me off and took me with him, in his hands, and I didn't care that I was dying until I actually was.”
“Could you try not aiming so much?" he asked me, still standing there. "If you hit him when you aim, it'll just be luck." He was speaking, communicating, and yet not breaking the spell. I then broke it. Quite deliberately. "How can it be luck if I aim?" I said back to him, not loud (despite the italics) but with rather more irritation in my voice than I was actually feeling. He didn't say anything for a moment but simply stood balanced on the curb, looking at me, I knew imperfectly, with love. "Because it will be," he said. "You'll be glad if you hit his marble — Ira's marble — won't you? Won't you be glad? And if you're glad when you hit somebody's marble, then you sort of secretly didn't expect too much to do it. So there'd have to be some luck in it, there'd have to be slightly quite a lot of accident in it.”
“Bastards have pissed me off," Reed snarled, out of breath, as he backed into the open armory door. "They hit me in the face."Lang grabbed Reed's jaw, turned his face toward him. "It's just a scratch."It's just my fucking face," Reed sputtered. "It needs to look good on a book jacket when I write my memoirs someday.”