Ah me! we wound where we never intended to strike; we create anger where we never meant harm; and these thoughts are the thorns in our cushion. - William Makepeace Thackeray,
There are few people who are more often in the wrong than those who cannot endure to be so.
Higher than the perfect song For which love longeth, Is the tender fear of wrong, That never wrongeth.
Live each day the fullest you can, not guaranteeing there'll be a tomorrow, not dwelling endlessly on yesterday.
The chief recommendation [in a young man] is modesty, then dutiful conduct toward parents, then affection for kindred. [Lat., Prima commendiato proficiscitur a modestia tum pietate in parentes, tum in suos benevolentia.]
Alas! the slippery nature of tender youth. [Lat., Teneris, heu, lubrica moribus aetas!]
Youth, what man's age is like to be, doth show; We may our ends by our beginnings know.
All lovely things will have an ending, All lovely things will fade and die; And youth, that's now so bravely spending, Will beg a penny by and by.
A man loves the meat in his youth that he cannot endure in his age.
The media have just buried the last yuppie, a pathetic creature who had not heard the news that the great pendulum of public conciousness has just swung from Greed to Compassion and from Tex-Mex to meatballs.
The zeal of friends it is that razes me, And not the hate of enemies. [Ger., Der Freunde Eifer ist's, der mich Zu Grunde richtet, nicht der Hass der Feinde.]