Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
No person can be a great leader unless he takes genuine joy in the successes of those under him.
The most important truths are likely to be those which society at that time least wants to hear.
Most people enjoy the sight of their own handwriting as they enjoy the smell of their own farts.
The commonest ivory tower is that of the average man, the state of passivity towards experience.
There are not many English novels which deserve to be called great: Parade's End is one of them.
How has the human spirit ever survived the terrific literature with which it has had to contend?
The night Makes everything grotesque. Is it because Night is the nature of man's interior world?
The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters, is simplicity.
My call is the call of battle- I nourish active rebellion;/ He going with me must go well armed.
We wake and whisper awhile, But, the day gone by, Silence and sleep like fields Of amaranth lie.
Those who, like the beasts, have no such Hope, pass their old age shrouded with an inward gloom.
And learn that the best thing is To change my loves while dancing And pay but a kiss for a kiss.
Blest be the art that can immortalize,--the art that baffles time's tyrannic claim to quench it.
There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.
Poetry, like sanctity, is the orchestration of multiple attributes into vast, compelling wholes.
I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was.
To lapse in fulness Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood Is worse in kings than beggars.
In love the heavens themselves do guide the state; Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.
My language! heavens!I am the best of them that speak this speech. Were I but where 'tis spoken.
O jest unseen, inscrutable, invisible, As a nose on a man's face, or a weathercock on a steeple.
But since the affairs of men rests still incertain, Let's reason with the worst that may befall.
Nothing teems But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs, Losing both beauty and utility.
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight, Past reason hunted, and no sooner had Past reason hated
I doubt not then but innocence shall makeFalse accusation blush, and tyrannyTremble at patience.
Jesu, Jesu, the mad days that I have spent! And to see how many of my old acquaintance are dead!
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lillies that fester smell far worse than weeds.
That island of England breeds very valiant creatures; their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage.
The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, The matron's glance that would those looks reprove.
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport, But creep in crannies when he hides his beams.
It is meant that noble minds keep ever with their likes; for who so firm that cannot be seduced.
For death remembered should be like a mirror, Who tells us life’s but breath, to trust it error.
And the things you know before you hear them; these are you and the reason you are in the world.
That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.
We all need to have a creative outlet - a window, a space - so we don't lose track of ourselves.
The oldOld winds that blewWhen chaos was, what doThey tell the clattered trees that IShould weep?
It will take all your heart, it will take all your breath It will be short, it will not be simple
The unconscious wants truth. It ceases to speak to those who want something else more than truth.
Of this alone, even god is deprived, the power of making things that are past never to have been.
To me a book is a message from the gods to mankind; or, if not, should never be published at all.
True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learned to dance.
Man, like the generous vine, supported lives; the strength he gains is from the embrace he gives.
Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood.
Some judge of authors' names, not works, and then Nor praise nor blame the writings, but the men.
No more the mounting larks, while Daphne sings, Shall, list'ning, in mid-air suspend their wings.
True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, as those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.
Each time we love,We turn a nearer and a broader markTo that keen archer, Sorrow, and he strikes.
We live in an age of universal investigation, and of exploration of the sources of all movements.
Happy, happy, happy for all that God hath done, Glad of all the little leaves dancing in the sun.
Every new fad or fashion at once has its denouncers from the pulpit, platform, professor's chair.