How can we love our country and not love our countrymen; and loving them, reach out a hand when they fall, heal them when they're sick, and provide opportunity to make them self-sufficient so they will be equal in fact and not just in theory?

It was always accounted a virtue in a man to love his country. With us it is now something more than a virtue. It is a necessity. When an American says that he loves his country, he means not only that he loves the New England hills, the prairies glistening in the sun, the wide and rising plains, the great mountains, and the sea. He means that he loves an inner air, an inner light in which freedom lives and in which a man can draw the breath of self-respect. Men who have offered their lives for their country know that patriotism is not the fear of something; it is the love of something.

To make us love our country, our country ought to be lovely.

It may not therefore be unseasonable to recommend to this present Generation the Practice of that Virtue, for which their Ancestors were particularly famous, and which is called The Love of one's Country. This Love to our Country, as a moral Virtue, is a fixed Disposition of Mind to promote the Safety; Welfare, and Reputation of the Community in which we are born, and of the Constitution under which we are protected

(Love your Country next to God, your honour, and most of all yourself.)

we love our country, we are so passionate about our country and now we have proven that we are passionate about each other and about humanity.

I should like to be able to love my country and still love justice.

What is love of one's country; is it hate of one's uncountry? Then it's not a good thing. Is it simply self-love? That's a good thing, but one musn't make a virtue of it, or a profession...Insofar as I love life, I love [my country], but that sort of love does not have a boundary-line of hate. And beyond that, I am ignorant, I hope.

To accept your country without betraying it, you must love it for that which shows what it might become. America — this monument to the genius of ordinary men and women, this place where hope becomes capacity, this long, halting turn of 'no' into the 'yes' — needs citizens who love it enough to re-imagine and re-make it.

The love of one's country is a splendid thing. But why should love stop at the border? There is a brotherhood among all men. This must be recognized if life is to remain. We must learn the love of man.

The truth is, if you insist on knowing, Mr. Hearst, we Communists like this country very much. We cannot think of any other spot on the globe where we would rather be than exactly this one. We love our country. Our affection is all the more deep in that we have watered it with the sweat of our labor- labor which made this country what it is: our mothers nourished it with the tears they shed over the troubles and tragedies of rearing babies in a land controlled by profit and profit makers. If we did not love our country so much, perhaps we would surrender it to Wall Street.

I love my country, and that means a lot to me.

That is a true sentiment which makes us feel that we do not love our country less, but more, because we have laid up in our minds the knowledge of other lands and other institutions and other races, and have had enkindled afresh within us the instinct of a common humanity, and of the universal beneficence of the Creator.

Our country is the world, our countrymen are all mankind. We love the land of our nativity, only as we love all other lands. The interests, rights, and liberties of American citizens are no more dear to us than are those of the whole human race. Hence we can allow no appeal to patriotism, to revenge any national insult or injury.