Quotes
Quotes about End
Hope to the end.
I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last.
With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.
But it was even thou, my companion, my guide, and mine own familiar friend.
Bitter end.
me no ends.
They say that the soul of man is immortal: at one time it comes to an end - that which is called death - and at another is born again, but is never finally exterminated.
There will be no end to the troubles of states, or indeed my dear Glaucon, of humanity itself, until philosophers become kings in this world, or until those we now call kings and rulers really and truly become philosophers.
The one gender is far superior to the other in just about every sphere.
..the virtue of a man consists in managing the cityâs affairs capably, and so that he will help his friends and injure his foes while taking care to come to no harm himself. Or if you want a womanâs virtue, that is easily described. She must be a good housewife, careful with her stores and obedient to her husband.
I'm summoned by the fields and hills, The shady maples in the garden, The bank of the deserted burn, The liberties the country offers. Give me your hand. I will return At the beginning of October: We'll drink together once again, And o'er our cups of friendly candor Discuss a dozen gentlemen-- We'll talk of fools and wicked gentry, And those with flunkey's souls from birth, And sometimes of the Tsar of Heaven, And sometimes of the one on earth.
He had got death over with, then. He was, in a sense, lucky. Perhaps posthumous life was better than the real thing. Oh God, yes, I remember Enderby, what a man. Eater, drinker, wencher, and such exotic adventures. You could go on living without all the trouble of still being alive. Your character got blurred and mingled with those of other dead men, wittier, handsomer, themselves more vital now that they were dead. And there was oneâs work, good or bad, but still a death-cheater. It wasnât death that was the that was the trouble, of course, it was dying.
But what happens when you die?â âYouâre finished withâ, Enderby said promptly. âDone for. And even if you werenât â well, you die then, gasp your last, then youâre sort of wandering, free of body. You wander around and then you come in contact with a sort of big thing. What is this big thing? God, if you like.â
Do you deny that Godâs incredible benison was to make man free, if he wished, to offend him? That no greater love is conceivable than to leave the creature free to hate the creator.
The work ends when the work ends, not before, and rarely after.
I am near the end of the wine, but out there, the big wine is being poured â thin, slow, grey. Never more shall I taste the oncoming of this particular darkness. But I shall not be sorry to go. I am not seduced to this life by the dainty lusts, clothed in cold green and clean linen, of an English spring. If you plunge into that dark there, you will emerge at length into a raging sun and all the fabled islands of my East. And that is what I shall be doing tonight, off like a bird. Letâs dwell a space on the irony of a poetâs desperately winging out the last of his sweetness while the corrosives closed in.
Lust racks and rends on every corporal level. Burrows through bone and jumps in every joint.
An end should be quick and sharp without malice
Music is considered an international language, yet it tends to gross insularity.
Joyce composes verbal melodies which seem to subsist independently of the things described
Life is circular and the beginning of a circle is also its end; life is not a rectilinear continuum. Thus the season of renewal is cruel because renewal entails the death of the old, and we may have committed ourselves to the old.
Then perhaps to die the death. An endless silence after a brief earth-sejourn. All the putative joys untasted. Circular speculation. A life wasted.
Spending half an hour or an hour, or two hours, on a piece of narrative fiction gives us the same kind of holistic, the same kind of total effect, the effect of being absorbed in an artistic experience without interruption that we get from listening to a piece of music
On Flaubert's 3 Contes: They are not quite short stories as we know them, then, yet to any modern writer, in whatever language, these are recommended as a fundamental textbook of style
In Europe, we tend to see marital love as an eternity which encompasses hate and also indifference. When we promise to love we really mean that we promise to honour a contract
