Quotes
Quotes about Man
And in the years he reigned; through all the country wide, There was no cause for weeping, save when the good man died. [Fr., Ce n'est que lorsqu'il expira Que le peuple, qui l'enterra pleura.]
Put not your trust in princes, nor in the son of man, in whom there is no help.
Many a crown Covers bald foreheads.
That man is deceived who thinks it slavery to live under an excellent prince. Never does liberty appear in a more gracious form than under a pious king. [Lat., Fallitur egregio quisquis sub principe credet Servitutem. Nunquam libertas gratior extat Quam sub rege pio.]
The rule Of the many is not well. One must be chief In war and one the king.
They say Princes learn no art truly, but the art of horsemanship. The reason is, the brave beast is no flatterer. He will throw a Prince as soon as his groom.
His fair large front and eye sublime declared Absolute rule; and hyacinthine locks Round from his parted forelock manly hung Clustering but not beneath his shoulders broad.
In good King Charles's golden days When royalty no harm meant, A zealous high-churchman was I, And so I got preferment.
Knowest thou not that kings have long hands? [Lat., An nescis longos regibus esse manus?]
It is something to hold the scepter with a firm hand. [Lat., Est aliquid valida sceptra tenere manu.]
What is a king? a man condemn'd to bear The public burthen of the nation's care.
O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.
The king-becoming graces, As justice, verity, temp'rance, stableness, Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, I have no relish of them, but abound In the division of each several crime, Acting in many ways.
Here lies our mutton-looking king, Whose word no man relied on, Who never said a foolish thing No ever did a wise one.
Here lies our sovereign lord, the king, Whose word no man relives on, Who never said a foolish thing, And never did a wise one.
When I have been indulging this thought I have, in imagination, seen the Britons of some future century, walking by the banks of the Thames, then overgrown with weeds and almost impassable with rubbish. The father points to his son where stood St. Paul's, the Monument, the Bank, the Mansion House, and other places of the first distinction.
There is a temple in ruins stands, Fashion'd by long forgotten hands: Two or three columns, and many a stone, Marble and granite, with grass o'ergrown!
For, to make deserts, God, who rules mankind, Begins with kings, and ends the work by wind.
She [the Roman Catholic Church] may still exist in undiminished vigour, when some traveller from New Zealand shall, in the midst of a vast solitude, take his stand on a broken arch of London Bridge to sketch the ruins of St. Paul's.
What each man feared would happen to himself, did not trouble him when he saw that it would ruin another. [Lat., Etiam quae sibi quisque timebat Unius in miseri exitium conversa tulere.]
Rumor does not always err; it sometimes even elects a man.
Straightway throughout the Libyan cities flies rumor;--the report of evil things than which nothing is swifter; it flourishes by its very activity and gains new strength by its movements; small at first through fear, it soon raises itself aloft and sweeps onward along the earth. Yet its head reaches the clouds. . . . A huge and horrid monster covered with many feathers: and for every plume a sharp eye, for every pinion a biting tongue. Everywhere its voices sound, to everything its ears are open. [Lat., Extemplo Libyae magnas it Fama per urbes: Fama malum quo non velocius ullum; Mobilitate viget, viresque acquirit eundo; Parva metu primo; mox sese attollit in auras, Ingrediturque solo, et caput inter nubilia condit. . . . . Monstrum, horrendum ingens; cui quot sunt corpore plumae Tot vigiles oculi subter, mirabile dictu, Tot linquae, totidem ora sonant, tot subrigit aures.]
On Sundays, at the matin-chime, The Alpine peasants, two and three, Climb up here to pray; Burghers and dames, at summer's prime, Ride out to church from Chamberry, Dight with mantles gay, But else it is a lonely time Round the Church of Brou.
And he said unto them, The sabbath was made for man, and not man for the sabbath: Therefore the Son of man is Lord also of the sabbath.
The Sundaies of man's life, Thredded together on time's string, Make bracelets to adorn the wife Of the eternal, glorious King. On Sunday heaven's gates stand ope; Blessings are plentiful and rife. More plentiful than hope.
