Quotes
Quotes about Sin
Do sometimes sink with their own weights. [Lat., Votre espril en donne aux autres.]
Now voe me I can zing on my business abrode: Though the storm do beat down on my poll, There's a wife brighten'd vire at the end of my road, An' her love, voe the jay o' my soul.
It is a thing very displeasing to me when the hen speaks and the cock is silent. [Fr., C'est chose qui moult me deplaist, Quand poule parle et coq se taist.]
You forget too much That every creature, female as the male, Stands single in responsible act and thought As also in birth and death.
Be aware of wonder. Live a balanced life - learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.
Wonders I sing; the sun has set; no night has followed. [Lat., Mira cano; sol occubuit; Nox nulla secuta est.]
Long stood the noble youth oppress'd with awe, And stupid at the wondrous things he saw, Surpassing common faith, transgressing nature's law.
She swore, i' faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful.
Woo the fair one when around Early birds are singing; When o'er all the fragrant ground Early herbs are springing: When the brookside, bank, and grove All with blossom laden, Shine with beauty, breathe of love, Woo the timid maiden.
How often in the summer-tide, His graver business set aside, His stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed As to the pipe of Pan, Stepped blithesomely with lover's pride Across the fields to Anne.
Some are soon bagg'd but some reject three dozen. 'Tis fine to see them scattering refusals And wild dismay, o'er every angry cousin (Friends of the party) who begin accusals, Such as--"Unless Miss (Blank) meant to have chosen Poor Frederick, why did she accord perusals To his billets? Why waltz with him? Why, I pray, Look yes least night, and yet say No to-day?"
Words without actions are the assassins of idealism.
Hasten slowly, and without losing heart, put your work twenty times upon the anvil. [Fr., Hatez-vous lentement; et, sans perdre courage, Vingt fois sur le metier remettez votre ouvrage.]
The rather since every man is the son of his own works. [Sp., Quanto mas que cada uno es hijo de sus obras.]
To build may have to be the slow and laborious task of years. To destroy can be the thoughtless act of a single day.
All Nature seems at work, slugs leave their lair-- The bees are stirring--birds are on the wing-- And Winter, slumbering in the open air, Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring! And I the while, the sole unbusy thing, Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
Work thou for pleasure--paint or sing or carve The thing thou lovest, though the body starve-- Who works for glory misses oft the goal; Who works for money coins his very soul. Work for the work's sake, then, and it may be That these things shall be added unto thee.
The Lord had a job for me, but I had so much to do, I said, "You get somebody else--or wait till I get through." I don't know how the Lord came out, but He seemed to get along: But I felt kinda sneakin' like, 'cause I know'd I done Him wrong. One day I needed the Lord--Needed Him myself--needed Him right away, And He never answered me at all, but I could hear Him say Down in my accusin' heart, "Nigger, I'se got too much to do, You get somebody else or wait till I get through."
Why, universal plodding poisons up The nimble spirits in the arteries, As motion and long-during action tires The sinewy vigor of the traveller.
Heaven is blessed with perfect rest but the blessing of earth is toil.
Thine to work as well as pray, Clearing thorny wrongs away; Plucking up the weeds of sin, Letting heaven's warm sunshine in.
He sees that this great roundabout, The world, with all its motley rout, Church, army, physic, law, Its customs and its businesses, Is no concern at all of his, And says--what says he?--Caw.
If the world is cold, make it your business to build fires.
There is but little in this world which can go wrong because everything is a blessing in disguise.
It was the human spirit itself that failed at Paris. It is no use passing judgments and making scapegoats of this or that individual statesman or group of statesmen. Idealists make a great mistake in not facing the real facts sincerely and resolutely. They believe in the power of the spirit, in the goodness which is at the heart of things, in the triumph which is in store for the great moral ideals of the race. But this great faith only too often leads to an optimism which is sadly and fatally at variance with actual results. It is the realist and not the idealist who is generally justified by events. We forget that the human spirit, the spirit of goodness and truth in the world, is still only an infant crying in the night, and that the struggle with darkness is as yet mostly an unequal struggle. . . . Paris proved this terrible truth once more. It was not Wilson who failed there, but humanity itself. It was not the statesmen that failed, so much as the spirit of the peoples behind them.
