Days Quotes (page 277)
You live as if you were destined to live forever, no thought of your frailty ever enters your head, of how much time has already gone by you take no heed. You squander time as if you drew from a full and abundant supply, so all the while that day which you bestow on some person or thing is perhaps your last. You have all the fears of mortals and all the desires of immortal? What foolish forgetfulness of mortality to defer wise resolutions to the fiftieth or sixtieth year, and to intend to...
Denis Diderot
I had never before been a special fan of that great comedian Phyllis Diller, but she utterly won my heart this week by sending me an envelope that, when opened, contained a torn-off square of brown-bag paper of the kind suitable for latrine duty in an ill-run correctional facility. Duly unfurled, it carried a handwritten salutation reading as follows: Money's scarce. Times are hard. Here's your f******Xmas card. I could not possibly improve on the sentiment, but I don't think it ought to...
Christopher Hitchens
And of the sixth day yet remained. There wanted yet the master work, the end. Of all yet done: a creature who not prone And brute as other creatures but endued. With sanctity of reason might erect His stature and, upright with front serene, Govern the rest, self-knowing, and from thence. Magnanimous to correspond with Heaven, But grateful to acknowledge whence his good Descends, thither with heart and voice and eyes. Directed in devotion to adore And worship God supreme who made him chief. Of...
John Milton
Tis true my garments threadbare are, And sorry poor I seem; But inly I am richer far. Than any poet's dream. For I've a hidden life no one. Can ever hope to see; A sacred sanctuary none. May share with me. Aloof I stand from out the strife, Within my heart a song; By virtue of my inner life. I to myself belong. Against man-ruling I rebel, Yet do not fear defeat, For to my secret citadel. I may retreat. Oh you who have an inner life. Beyond this dismal day. With wars and evil rumours rife, Go...
Robert W. Service
When one does something, one must do it wholly and well. Those bastard existences where you sell suet all day and write poetry at night are made for mediocre minds? like those horses that are equally good for saddle and carriage, the worst kind, that can neither jump a ditch nor pull a plow.
Gustave Flaubert