Jot Quotes (displaying: 1 - 30 of 34 quotes )
Pankaa mieleenne, hn sanoi, -min pidn tuosta lapsukaisesta. Kaikki pitvt, mutta on sellaisiakin, jotka eivt pid. Min pidn. Pidn tuosta lapsukaisesta vilpittmsti. Olen herkktunteinen ihminen, siit se johtuu. Tytyy olla herkktunteinen osatakseen antaa hnelle arvoa: vhn niin kuin runoilija. Mutta sanonpa teille totuuden. Voitte mietti pnne puhki pstksenne hnest perille ja hn antaa teille hevonpaskaa lautasella.
let not thy sword skip one: Pity not honour'd age for his white beard; He is an usurer: strike me the counterfeit matron; It is her habit only that is honest, Herself's a bawd: let not the virgin's cheek. Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk-paps, That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes, Are not within the leaf of pity writ, But set them down horrible traitors: spare not the babe, Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy; Think it a bastard, whom the oracle. Hath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall cut, And mince it sans remorse: swear against objects; Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes; Whose proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor babes, Nor sight of priests in holy vestments bleeding, Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay soldiers: Make large confusion; and, thy fury spent, Confounded be thyself! Speak not, be gone.
And, now, come to this spot. Where the spotlight is hot. And you'll see in the spotlight. A Juggling Jott. Who can juggle some stuff. You might think he could not... Such as twenty-two question marks, Which is a lot. Also forty-four commas. And, also, one dot! That's the kind of Circus Mc. Gurkus I've got!
Anyone who cannot cope with life while he is alive needs one hand to ward off a little his despair over his fate...but with his other hand he can jot down what he sees among the ruins, for he sees different and more things than the others; after all, he is dead in his own lifetime and the real survivor.
Alas, I was unable to transcend the simple human fact that whatever spiritual solace I might find, whatever lithophanic eternities might be provided for me, nothing could make my Lolita forget the foul lust I had inflicted upon her. Unless it can be proven to me -to me as I am now, today, with my heart and my beard, and my putrefaction- that in the infinitue run it does not matter a jot that a North American girl-child names Dolores Haze had been deprived of her childhood by a maniac, unless this can be proven (and if it can, then life is a joke), I see nothing for the treatment of my misery but the melancholy and very local palliative of articulate art. To quote an old poet: The moral sense in mortals is the duty. We have to pay on mortal sense of beauty.
The Lost Tribe. How long, how long must I regret? I never found my people yet; I go about, but cannot find The blood-relations of the mind. Through my little sphere I range, And though I wither do not change; Must not change a jot, lest they Should not know me on my way. Sometimes I think when I am dead They will come about my bed, For my people well do know When to come and when to go. I know not why I am alone, Nor where my wandering tribe is gone, But be they few, or be they far, Would I were where my people are!
Nuoren ihmisen on murrosiss ensin hylttv kaikki, mik hnelle siihen asti on ollut rakasta, jotta hn voi rakentaa uudet arvot. Samoin Friedrich Nietzsche, joka ei koskaan ollut kokenut puberteetin kapinaa ja joka 12 vuotiaana oli kirjoittanut sovinnaisia ja pikkuvanhoja merkintj pivkirjaansa, ryhtyy nyt 25 vuotiaana hykkmn hnelle aiemmin arvokasta kulttuuria vastaan, alkaa pilkata sit, vristell sit absurditeettiin asti. Eik hn tee sit aikuistumassa olevan nuoren ihmisen keinoin vaan filologin ja filosofian professorin pitklle kehittyneen lyn asein. On aivan selv, ett tll kielell on voimaa ja ett se tekee vaikutuksen.
Some of the craftiest scoundrels that ever walked this earth, rather...that ever crawled and crept through life by its dirtiest and narrowest ways, will gravely jot down in diaries the events of every day, and keep a regular debtor and creditor acount with Heaven, which shall always show a floating balance in their own favour.
She had not the faintest notion of the mysteries of harmony, and this was connected with her being wretchedly untidy . Her slovenliness showed in the very way she walked, for she had a knack of treading her left shoe down at heel. It made me shudder to glance into her chest of drawers where there writhed higgledy-piggledy a farrago of rags, ribbons, bits of silk, her passport, a wilted tulip, some pieces of moth-eaten fur, sundry anachronism (gaiters for example, as worn by girls years ago) and suchlike impossible rubbish. Quite often, too, there would dribbled into the cosmos of my beautifully arranged things some tiny and very dirty lace handkerchief or a solitary stocking, torn. Stockings seemed positively to burn on those brisk calves of hers. Not a jot did she understand of household matters. Her receptions were dreadful. There would always be, in a little dish, broken bars of chocolate as offered in poor provincial families. I sometimes used to ask myself, what on earth did I love her for?
Ye are most strong, ye Sons of the icy North, of the far East, far marching from your rugged Eastern Wildernesses, hither-ward from the gray Dawn of Time! Ye are Sons of the Jotun-land; the land of Difficulties Conquered. Difficult? You must try this thing. Once try it with the understanding that it will and shall have to be done. Try it as ye try the paltrier thing, making of money! I will bet on you once more, against all Jo'tuns, Tailor-gods, Double-barrelled Law-wards, and Denizens of Chaos whatsoever!