Quotes
Quotes about Wit
Why, to hear Betsy Bobbet talk about wimmin's throwin' their modesty away, you would think if they ever went to the political pole, they would have to take their dignity and modesty and throw 'em against the pole, and go without any all the rest of their lives.
It is far more impressive when others discover your good qualities without your help
With people of only moderate ability modesty is mere honesty; but with those who possess great talent it is hypocrisy.
Nothing can atone for the lack of modesty; without which beauty is ungraceful and wit detestable.
With people of only moderate ability modesty is mere honesty; but with those who possess great talent it is hypocrisy.
A bishop then must be blameless, the husband of one wife, vigilant, sober, of good behavior, given to hospitality, apt to teach: Not given to wine, no striker, not greedy of filthy lucre; but patient, not a brawler, not covetous; One that ruleth well his own house, having his children in subjection with all gravity; (For if a man know not how to rule his own house, how shall he take care of the church of God?)
For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.
Make ducks and drakes with shillings.
Money was made, not to command our will, But all out lawful pleasure to fulfil. Shame and woe to use, if we our wealth obey; The horse doth with the horseman run away.
Money can't buy real friendshipâfriendship must be earned. Money can't buy a clear conscienceâsquare dealing is the price tag. Money can't buy the glow of good healthâright living is the secret. Money can't buy happinessâhappiness is a mental condition and one may be as happy in a cottage as in a mansion. Money can't buy sunsets, songs of wild birds and the music of the wind in the treesâthese are as free as the air we breath. Money can't buy inward peaceâpeace is the result of a constructive philosophy in life. Money can't buy a good characterâgood character is achieved through decent habits of private living and wholesome dealings in our open contacts with our fellow men.
Money was made, not to command our will, But all our lawful pleasures to fulfill. Shame and woe to us, if we our wealth obey; The horse doth with the horseman away.
Money is like love; it kills slowly and painfully the one who withholds it, and enlivens the other who turns it on his fellow man.
Money is like a sixth sense, and you can't make use of the other five without it.
Never ask of money spent Where the spender thinks it went. Nobody was ever meant To remember or invent What he did with every cent.
Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn't. Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.
I am in love with Montana . . . Montana seems to me to be what a small boy would think Texas is like from hearing Texans.
To extend our memories by monuments, whose death we daily pray for, and whose duration we cannot hope, without injury to our expectations in the advent of the last day, were a contradiction to our belief.
You shall not pile, with servile toil, Your monuments upon my breast, Nor yet within the common soil Lay down the wreck of power to rest, Where man can boast that he has trod On him that was "the scourge of God."
Marble statues, engraved with public inscriptions, by which the life and soul return after death to noble leaders. [Lat., Incisa notis marmora publicis, Per quae spiritus et vita redit bonis Post mortem ducibus.]
If we work upon marble it will perish. If we work upon brass time will efface it. If we rear temples they will crumble to dust. But if we work upon men's immortal minds, if we imbue them with high principles, with the just fear of God and love of their fellow men, we engrave on those tablets something which no time can efface, and which will brighten and brighten to all eternity.
The moon is at her full, and riding high, Floods the calm fields with light. The airs that hover in the summer sky Are all asleep to-night.
The moon pull'd off her veil of light, That hides her face by day from sight (Mysterious veil, of brightness made,) That's both her lustre and her shade), And in the lantern of the night, With shining horns hung out her light.
The sun had sunk and the summer skies Were dotted with specks of light That melted soon in the deep moon-rise That flowed over Groton Height.
As the moon's fair image quaketh In the raging waves of ocean, Whilst she, in the vault of heaven, Moves with silent peaceful motion.
The stars were glittering in the heaven's dusk meadows, Far west, among those flowers of the shadows, The thin, clear crescent lustrous over her, Made Ruth raise question, looking through the bars Of heaven, with eyes half-oped, what God, what comer Unto the harvest of the eternal summer, Had flung his golden hook down on the field of stars.
