Quotes
Quotes about Lies
I said to the sky-poised Lark: "Hark--hark! Thy note is more loud and free Because there lies safe for thee A little nest on the ground."
Hark, hark, the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes. With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise, Arise, arise!
The lark that shuns on lofty boughs to build Her humble nest, lies silent in the field.
Here lies Charles Cuevas. He once said "Gimme hockey, or gimme death." He didn't quite get hockey.
How much lies in Laughter: the cipher-key, wherewith we decipher the whole man.
Learn from the earliest days to insure your principles against the perils of ridicule; you can no more exercise your reason if you live in the constant dread of laughter, that you can enjoy your life if you are in the constant terror of death.
One of the Seven was wont to say: "That laws were like cobwebs; where the small flies were caught, and the great brake through."
Laws are like cobwebs, which may catch small flies but which let wasps and hornets break through.
We are closer to the ants than to the butterflies. Very few people can endure much leisure.
If you are in doubt whether to write a letter or not, don't. And the advice applies to many doubts in life besides that of letter writing.
A mind conscious of innocence laughs at the lies of rumor.
He who foretells the future lies, even if he tells the truth.
Lies that build are better than truths that destroy.
Gradually I came to realize that people will more readily swallow lies than truth, as if the taste of lies was homey, appetizing: a habit.
If you do not wish to be lied to, do not ask questions. If there were no questions, there would be no lies.
Clay lies still but blood's a rover; Breath's a ware that will not keep. Up, lad; when the journey's over There'll be time enough for sleep.
Who will tell whether one happy moment of love or the joy of breathing or walking on a bright morning and smelling the fresh air, is not worth all the suffering and effort which life implies.
I like not lady-slippers, Not yet the sweet-pea blossoms, Not yet the flaky roses, Red or white as snow; I like the chaliced lilies, The heavy Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow.
And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
And lilies are still lilies, pulled By smutty hands, though spotted from their white.
. . . Purple lilies Dante blew To a larger bubble with his prophet breath.
And lilies white, prepared to touch The whitest thought, nor soil it much, Of dreamer turned to lover.
Very whitely still The lilies of our lives may reassure Their blossoms from their roots, accessible Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer; Growing straight out of man's reach, on the hill. God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.
And the stately lilies stand Fair in the silvery light, Like saintly vestals, pale in prayer; Their pure breath sanctifies the air, As its fragrance fills the night.
Yet, the great ocean hath no tone of power Mightier to reach the soul, in thought's hushed hour, Than yours, ye Lilies! chosen thus and graced!
