Quotes
Quotes about Sin
I find nothing more depressing than optimism.
With little art, clear wit and sense Suggest their own delivery. [Ger., Es tragt Verstand und rechter Sinn, Mit wenig Kunst sich selber vor.]
Besides, as is usually the case, we are much more affected by the words which we hear, for though what you read in books may be more pointed, yet there is something in the voice, the look, the carriage, and even the gesture of the speaker, that makes a deeper impression upon the mind. [Lat., Praeterea multo magis, ut vulgo dicitur viva vox afficit: nam licet acriora sint, quae legas, ultius tamen in ammo sedent, quae pronuntiatio, vultus, habitus, gestus dicentis adfigit.]
If you did wed my sister for her wealth, Then for her wealth's sake use her with more kindness: Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth; Muffle your false love with some show of blindness: Let not my sister read it in your eye; Be not thy tongue thy own shame's orator; Look sweet, spear fair, become disloyalty; Apparel vice like virtue's harbinger; Bear a fair presence, though your heart be tainted; Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint; Be secret-false: what need she be acquainted?
Original thought is like original sin: both happened before you were born to people you could not have possibly met.
The merit of originality is not novelty; it is sincerity. The believing man is the original man; whatsoever he believes, he believes it for himself, not for another.
No bird has ever uttered note That was not in some first bird's throat; Since Eden's freshness and man's fall No rose has been original.
The merit of originality is not novelty, it is sincerity. The believing man is the original man; he believes for himself, not for another.
Pride is the master sin of the devil, and the devil is the father of lies.
When all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-who; Tu-whit, tu-who: a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
And the wind that saddens, the sea that gladdens, Are singing the selfsame strain.
There's a pang in all rejoicing, And a joy in the heart of pain; And the wind that saddens, the sea that gladdens, Are singing the selfsame strain.
The mark of rank in nature is capacity for pain, And the anguish of the singer marks the sweetness of the strain. - Sarah Williams ("Saidie"),
Much benevolence of the passive order may be traced to a disinclination to inflict pain upon oneself.
A book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, A Loaf of Bread, and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness-- On, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
A limbo large and broad, since call'd The Paradise of Fools to few unknown.
Perhaps there is only one cardinal sin: impatience. Because of impatience we were driven out of Paradise, because of impatience we cannot return.
For thence,--a paradox Which comforts while it mocks,-- Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me: A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale.
Raising kids is part joy and part guerilla warfare. -Ed Asner.
Search then the ruling passion; there alone, The wild are constant, and the cunning known; The fool consistent, and the false sincere; Priests, princes, women, no dissemblers here.
Difference of object does not alter singleness of passion. It merely intensifies it. We can have but one great experience at best, and the secret of life is to reproduce that experience as often as possible.
Nevertheless the passions, whether violent or not, should never be so expressed as to reach the point of causing disgust; and music, even in situations of the greatest horror, should never be painful to the ear but should flatter and charm it, and thereby always remain music.
Listen to the Water-Mill: Through the live-long day How the clicking of its wheel Wears the hours away! Languidly the Autumn wind Stirs the forest leaves, From the field the reapers sing Binding up their sheaves: And a proverb haunts my mind As a spell is cast, "The mill cannot grind With the water that is past."
I cannot sing the old songs, Or dream those dreams again,
Perhaps there is only one cardinal sin: impatience. Because of impatience we were driven out of Paradise, because of impatience we cannot return.
