distinctive image used as a symbol, traditionally embodied as a piece of fabric From Wikiquote, the free quote compendium
A flag is a piece of fabric (most often rectangular or quadrilateral) with a distinctive design that is used as a symbol, as a signaling device, or as decoration.
FLAG, n. A colored rag borne above troops and hoisted on forts and ships. It appears to serve the same purpose as certain signs that one sees and vacant lots in London -- "Rubbish may be shot here."
Ambrose Bierce, The Cynic's Dictionary (1906); republished as The Devil's Dictionary (1911).
Each flag will have its own particular symbols like the chakra-dhavaja, or wheel, in the Indian flag, or the Protestant orange and Catholic green in the flag of Eire. Even as a flag indicates particularity, with its own particularity, with its own individual patterns (whether the Stars and Stripes, the Union Jack, the Tricolor or whatever), it also flags its own universality. Each flag, by its conventional rectangular pattern, announces itself to be an element of an established, recognizable series, in which all the flags are essentially similar in their conventions of difference. The odd exception, like the pennant-shaped flag of Nepal, only serves to confirm the general rule. New nations, in designing their flags, tend to follow heraldic convention of colour as well as shape: they avoid certain shades like shocking pink and kingfisher blue (Firth, 1973). The hoisting of the newly designed flag indicates that another nation has joined the club of nations: 'we' have become like 'you' (no longer 'them'); 'we' are all nations, with 'our' flags and 'our' anthems, 'our' seats in the United Nations, and 'our' participation, with appropriately designed vests at Olympic Games and World Cups.
The flag, like the cross, is sacred. ... The rules and regulations relative to human attitude toward national standards use strong, expressive words, as, "Service to the Flag," ... "Reverence for the Flag," "Devotion to the Flag."
Rally round the flag, boys— Give it to the breeze! That's the banner that we bore On the land and seas. Brave hearts are under it, Let the traitors brag, Gallant lads, fire away! And fight for the flag. Their flag is but a rag— Ours is the true one; Up with the Stars and Stripes! with the new one! Let our colors fly, boys— Guard them day and night; For victory is liberty, And God will bless the right.
James Thomas Fields, "The Stars and Stripes"; reported in Florence Adams and Elizabeth McCarrick, Highdays & Holidays (1927), pp. 182–83.
We often dismiss controversies or concerns by waving our hands and saying something like, “Oh, that’s merely symbolic,” as if the meaning we give to symbols is somehow irrelevant compared with more tangible things. But symbolism — the way we reduce broad concerns, agendas, and visions to images or rituals — has played a defining role in human life since there have been humans. Try burning a flag or a cross in front of the wrong audience and then tell me symbolism is nothing.
Both flag burners and flag wavers can agree on one thing: The flag has meaning beyond the merely instrumental necessity of having a piece of cloth that identifies a legal jurisdiction.
A moth-eaten rag on a worm-eaten pole, It does not look likely to stir a man's Soul, 'Tis the deeds that were done 'neath the moth-eaten rag, When the pole was a staff, and the rag was a flag.
Your flag and my flag, And how it flies to-day In your land and my land And half a world away! Rose-red and blood-red The stripes for ever gleam; Snow-white and soul-white— The good forefathers' dream; Sky-blue and true-blue, with stars to gleam aright— The gloried guidon of the day; a shelter through the night.
Wilbur D. Nesbit, "A Song for Flag Day", in The Trail to Boyland (1904), p. 96, stanza 1.
I have never seen anyone burn a flag. And if I did, it would take every ounce of restraint I had not to haul off and hit them.
A few months after Mandela’s inauguration, I was rummaging for second-hand furniture at a pawn shop in Ontdekkers Road. I bought a rickety coffee table that I still have, and a few other bits and pieces. I needed to get them home, but I had no trailer, and no roof rack. The pawn broker went inside and returned with a tatty old South African flag to protect my car’s roof when we tied the furniture to the top.
It was startlingly absurd. That flag, which I had once been taught to revere above all else, was being given away by a pawn broker. That flag, which must never touch the ground, was reduced to packing material.
That this flag no longer held any value could not have been demonstrated more eloquently. Even to burn it would have given it back some of its significance, because you cannot desecrate something that means nothing.
Uncover when the flag goes by, boys, 'Tis freedom's starry banner that you greet, Flag famed in song and story Long may it wave, old glory The flag that has never known defeat.
Fling out, fling out, with cheer and shout, To all the winds Our Country's Banner! Be every bar, and every star, Displayed in full and glorious manner! Blow, zephyrs, blow, keep the dear ensign flying! Blow, zephyrs, sweetly mournful, sighing, sighing, sighing!
Abraham Coles, The Microcosm and other Poems, p. 191.
If any one attempts to haul down the American flag, shoot him on the spot.
John A. Dix, Speeches and Addresses, Volume II, p. 440. An Official Dispatch. Jan. 29, 1861.
When Freedom from her mountain height Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there.
A moth-eaten rag on a worm-eaten pole, It does not look likely to stir a man's soul. 'Tis the deeds that were done 'neath the moth-eaten rag, When the pole was a staff, and the rag was a flag.
Gen. Sir Edward Hamley, referring to the Colors of the 43rd Monmouth Light Infantry.
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky.
Oh! say can you see by the dawn's early light What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming, Whose stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watch'd, were so gallantly streaming; And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there!
CHORUS Oh! say, does that star spangled banner yet wave, O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
Francis Scott Key, Star-Spangled Banner. "To Anacreon in heaven, where he sat in full glee, / A few Sons of Harmony sent a petition, \ That he their inspirer and patron would be." Ralph Tomlinson—To Anacreon in Heaven. Music by John Stafford Smith. Tune of The Star-Spangled Banner (between 1770 and 1775) to which F. S. Key set his words.
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation! Then conquer we must when our cause it is just. And this be our motto, "In God is our trust!" And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
England! Whence came each glowing hue That tints your flag of meteor light,— The streaming red, the deeper blue, Crossed with the moonbeams' pearly white? The blood, the bruise—the blue, the red— Let Asia's groaning millions speak; The white it tells of colour fled From starving Erin's pallid cheek.
George Lunt, answer to Campbell, in Newburyport News (Massachusetts).
The dream grows waving in the flag and goes cultivating in the certainty of tomorrow
Salomão J. Manhiça, "Pátria Amada" (2002), the national anthem of Mozambique
Original Portuguese: Cresce o sonho ondulando na bandeira. E vai lavrando na certeza do amanhã.
Bastard Freedom waves Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves.
"A song for our banner?"—The watchword recall Which gave the Republic her station; "United we stand—divided we fall!" It made and preserves us a nation!
George P. Morris, The Flag of Our Union. Probably inspired by Dickinson.
Your flag and my flag, And how it flies today In your land and my land And half a world away! Rose-red and blood-red The stripes forever gleam; Snow-white and soul-white— The good forefathers' dream; Sky-blue and true-blue, with stars to gleam aright— The gloried guidon of the day, a shelter through the night.
Yes, we'll rally round the flag, boys, we'll rally once again, Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom, We will rally from the hill-side, we'll gather from the plain, Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom.
She's up there—Old Glory—where lightnings are sped, She dazzles the nations with ripples of red, And she'll wave for us living, or droop o'er us dead— The flag of our country forever.
Banner of England, not for a season, O Banner of Britain, hast thou Floated in conquering battle or flapt to the battle-cry! Never with mightier glory, than when we had rear'd thee on high, Flying at top of the roofs in the ghastly siege of Lucknow— Shot thro' the staff or the halyard, but ever we raised thee anew, And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew.
Might his last glance behold the glorious ensign of the Republic still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in all their original lustre.