Quotes
Quotes about Lust
There is a lust in man no charm can tame: Of loudly publishing his neighbor's shame: On eagles wings immortal scandals fly, while virtuous actions are born and die.
The lust for comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house a guest and then becomes a host, and then a master.
'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume; And we are weeds without it.
A proverb is no proverb to you until life has illustrated it.
A wisely chosen illustration is almost essential to fasten the truth upon the ordinary mind, and no teacher can afford to neglect this part of his preparation.
Of all the worldly passions, lust is the most intense. All other worldly passions seem to follow in its train.
Ambition is a lust that is never quenched, but grows more inflamed and madder by enjoyment.
The lust of avarice has so totally seized upon mankind that their wealth seems rather to possess them than they possess their wealth.
There are three all-powerful evils: lust, anger and greed.
An enemy to whom you show kindness becomes your friend, excepting lust, the indulgence of which increases its enmity.
Even as a Surgeon, minding off to cut Some cureless limb, before in use he put His violent Engins on the vicious member, Bringeth his Patient in a senseless slumber, And grief-less then (guided by use and art), To save the whole, sawes off th' infected part. - Guillaume de Salluste Du Bartas,
It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, a luster obliterates. There is little distinct left without an effort of memory, then indeed the lights are rekindled for a momentâbut who can be sure that the Imagination is not the torch-bearer?
The moon pull'd off her veil of light, That hides her face by day from sight (Mysterious veil, of brightness made,) That's both her lustre and her shade), And in the lantern of the night, With shining horns hung out her light.
The stars were glittering in the heaven's dusk meadows, Far west, among those flowers of the shadows, The thin, clear crescent lustrous over her, Made Ruth raise question, looking through the bars Of heaven, with eyes half-oped, what God, what comer Unto the harvest of the eternal summer, Had flung his golden hook down on the field of stars.
raspberry drupelets cluster around a cavern of emptiness (paraphrased from her talk on C Span's Book TV).
As in nature, as in art, so in grace; it is rough treatment that gives souls, as well as stones, their luster. The more the diamond is cut the brighter it sparkles; and in what seems hard dealing, there God has no end in view but to perfect His people.
Night's black Mantle covers all alike. - Guillaume de Salluste Du Bartas,
The Roman senate, when within The city walls an owl was seen, Did cause their clergy, with lustrations . . . . The round-fac'd prodigy t' avert, From doing town or country hurt.
To what base ends, and by what abject ways, Are mortals urg'd through sacred lust of praise!
There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark! And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk.
With every passing hour our solar system comes forty-three thousand miles closer to globular cluster 13 in the constellation Hercules, and still there are some misfits who continue to insist that there is no such thing as progress.
To illustrate the difference between the innovator and the dull crowd of routinists who cannot even imagine that any improvement is possible, we need only refer to a passage in Engel's most famous book. Here, in 1878, Engels apodictically announced that military weapons are "now so perfected that no further progress of any revolutionizing influence is any longer possible." Henceforth "all further [technological] progress is by and large indifferent for land warfare. The age of evolution is in this regard essentially closed." This complacent conclusion shows in what the achievement of the innovator consists: he accomplishes what other people believe to be unthinkable and unfeasible.
The mind, relaxing into needful sport, Should turn to writers of an abler sort, Whose wit well managed, and whose classic style, Give truth a lustre, and make wisdom smile.
But truths on which depends our main concern, That 'tis our shame and misery not to learn, Shine by the side of every path we tread With such a lustre he that runs may read.
There is a lust in man no charm can tame: Of loudly publishing his neighbor's shame: On eagles wings immortal scandals fly, while virtuous actions are born and die.
