Quotes
Quotes about Men
There was a little city, and few men within it; and there came a great king against it, and besieged it, and built great bulwarks against it: Now there was found in it a poor wise man, and he by his wisdom delivered the city; yet no man remembered that same poor man. Then said I, Wisdom is better than strength: nevertheless the poor man's wisdom is despised, and his words are not heard.
The words of wise men are heard in quiet more than the cry of him that ruleth among fools. Wisdom is better than weapons of war: but one sinner destroyeth much good.
But Jesus beheld them, and said unto them, With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible.
Surely the serpent will bite without enchantment; and a babbler is no better. The words of a wise man's mouth are gracious; but the lips of a fool will swallow up himself.
Bigotry may be roughly defined as the anger of men who have no opinions.
Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these? Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught The dialect they speak, where melodies Alone are the interpreters of thought? Whose household words are songs in many keys, Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught! - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,
Our birth is nothing but our death begun, As tapers waste the moment they take fire.
We praise or blame as one or the other affords more opportunity for exhibiting our power of judgment.
Prosperity is the blessing of the Old Testament; Adversity is the blessing of the New.
I pity bashful men, who feel the pain Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain, And bear the marks upon a blushing face, OF needless shame, and self-impos'd disgrace.
Men blush less for their crimes than for their weaknesses and vanity. [Fr., Les hommes rougissent moins de leur crimes que de leurs faiblesses et de leur vanite.]
I ask, that I might waken reverence, And bid the cheek be ready with a blush Modest as morning when she coldly eyes The youthful Phoebus, Which is that god in office, guiding men?
Where now I have no one to blush with me, To cross their arms and hang their heads with mine, To mask their brows and hide their infamy; But I alone, alone must sit and pine, Seasoning the earth with show'rs of silver brine, Mingling my talk with tears, my grief with groans, Poor wasting monuments of lasting moans.
Like the watermen that row one way and look another.
Like the watermen who advance forward while they look backward.
Like watermen who look astern while they row the boat ahead.
It is the common wonder of all men, how among so many millions of faces, there should be none alike.
Mental pleasure are never cloy; unlike those of the body, they are increased by repetition, approved by reflection, and strengthened by enjoyment.
But the images of men's wits and knowledges remain in books, exempted from the wrong of time, and capable of perpetual renovation.
Men do not understand books until they have a certain amount of life, or at any rate no man understands a deep book, until he has seen and lived at least part of its contents.
He who studies books alone will know how things ought to be, and he who studies men will know how they are.
For books are more than books, they are the life, the very heart and core of ages past, the reason why men worked and died, the essence and quintessence of their lives.
The Bible remained for me a book of books, still divineâbut divine in the sense that all great books are divine which teach men how to live righteously.
Books are not men and yet they stay alive.
If writers were good businessmen, they'd have too much sense to be writers.
