Imagination was given to man to compensate him for what he is not; a sense of humor to console him for what he is.
We must respect the other fellow's religion, but only in the sense and to the extent that we respect his theory that his wife is beautiful and his children smart.
How hard it is, sometimes, to trust the evidence of one's senses! How reluctantly the mind consents to reality.
The Bolshevists would blow up the fabric with high explosive, with horror. Others would pull down with the crowbars and with cranks--especially with cranks. . . . Sweating, slums, the sense of semi-slavery in labour, must go. We must cultivate a sense of manhood by treating men as men.
If one of us could ascend to the heavenly realm and for a few hours accompany the divine on His daily rounds, he would see below millions of his fellow humans busily hurling themselves into the passions, sports, and action of those around him. But if our observer had the power and omniscience of the Lord, he would also feel and sense, pulsing through and vibrating from every one of us here below, a desperate and unending plea, "Notice me! I want to be known admired, and loved by the whole world!" And it is this, this glorious weakness, this dependence of ours on each other, that makes some of us usually heroes and fools at the same time.
People differ in their discourse and profession about these matters, but men of sense are really but of one religion . . . "What religion?" . . . the Earl said, "Men of sense never tell it."
We must respect the other fellow's religion, but only in the sense that we respect his theory that his wife is beautiful and his children smart.
Gods are fragile things; they may be killed by a whiff of science or a dose of common sense.
We must respect the other fellow's religion, but only in the same sense and to the extent that we respect his theory that his wife is beautiful and his children smart.
Every man, either to his terror or consolation, has some sense of religion.
Man's most valuable trait is a judicious sense of what not to believe.
Christians should never fail to sense the operation of an angelic glory. It forever eclipses the world of demonic powers, as the sun does a candle's light.
Once conform, once do what others do because they do it, and a kind of lethargy steals over all the finer senses of the soul.
That passage is what I call the sublime dashed to pieces by cutting too close with the fiery four-in-hand round the corner of nonsense.
You say that love is nonsense....I tell you it is no such thing. For weeks and months it is a steady physical pain, an ache about the heart, never leaving one, by night or by day; a long strain on one's nerves like toothache or rheumatism, not intolerable at any one instant, but exhausting by its steady drain on the strength.
If thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only. Do not say, I love her for her smile . . . her look . . . her way Of speaking gently . . . for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and, certes, brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day- For these things in themselves, Beloved, may be changed, or change for thee- and love so wrought, May be unwrought so.
Satire or sense, alas! Can Sporus feel? Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?
Science when well digested is nothing but good sense and reason.
But beyond the bright searchlights of science, Out of sight of the windows of sense, Old riddles still bid us defiance, Old questions of Why and of Whence.
Everybody gets so much information all day long that they lose their common sense.
In all my travels I never met with any one Scotchman but what was a man of sense. I believe everybody of that country that has any, leaves it as fast as they can.
Not to have control over the senses is like sailing in a rudderless ship, bound to break to pieces on coming in contact with the very first rock.
The men and women who have the right ideals ... are those who have the courage to strive for the happiness which comes only with labor and effort and self-sacrifice, and those whose joy in life springs in part from power of work and sense of duty.
Self-sacrifice which denies common sense is not a virtue. It's a spiritual dissipation.
Huzzaed out of my seven senses.