Quotes
Quotes about Men
Woe unto you, when all men shall speak well of you!
Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost.
Speak after the manner of men.
Recompense to no man evil for evil. Provide things honest in the sight of all men.
If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men.
Not to think of men above that which is written.
I am made all things to all men.
Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
Weak and beggarly elements.
The spirits of just men made perfect.
Ornament of a meek and quiet spirit.
Men to be of one mind in an house.
Drive a coach and six through an Act of Parliament.
Free soil, free men, free speech, Frémont.
Gentlemen of the French guard, fire first.
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.
To a writer the brain's greatest achievement is literature
Men are influenced by big loud empty words, styes which swell the eyelids and impede vision of the truth
Nothing capable of a moral assessment inheres in a language; it remains neutral and innocuous.
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.
The establishment rejected him. And it was because heâd had the guts to fight and get gassed, while the rest of the bastards stayed at home.
On what God is like: Like a big symphony. The page of the score of infinite length, the number of instruments infinite but all bound into one big unity. This big symphony plays itself for ever and ever. And who listens to it? It listens to itself. Enjoys itself for ever and ever and ever. It doesnât give a bugger whether you hear it or not.
You canât split life into diachronic segments
The precise date of your dispatch, the precise allotment of paradisal or infernal space awaiting you. Would you diminish the Allknowing by making man free?
On God: He scatters grace liberally and arbitrarily, so all men may hope.
