Quotes to inspire and reflect

Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.

As he was valiant, I honour him: but, as he was ambitious, I slew him.

Et tu, Brute? Then fall, Caesar!

O! pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,

Cowards die many times before their deaths;

But I am constant as the northern star,

Let’s carve him as a dish fit for the gods,

When beggars die, there are no comets seen;

’Tis very like: he hath the falling sickness.

It is the bright day that brings forth the adder.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world

Let me have men about me that are fat;

But suicides have a special language.

In a dream you are never eighty.

Then, then we’ll end that stupid crime, that devil’s madness—War.

When we, the Workers, all demand: ‘What are WE fighting for?’ …

Ah! the clock is always slow;

A promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.

The Big Bow-Wow strain I can do myself like any now going; but the exquisite touch, which renders ordinary commonplace things and characters interesting, from the truth of the description and the sentiment, is denied to me.

All men who have turned out worth anything have had the chief hand in their own education.

We shall never learn to feel and respect our real calling and destiny, unless we have taught ourselves to consider every thing as moonshine, compared with the education of the heart.

The play-bill, which is said to have announced the tragedy of Hamlet, the character of the Prince of Denmark being left out.

The hour is come, but not the man.

There’s a gude time coming.

‘but’ = without

Touch not the cat but a glove.

O Woman! in our hours of ease,

It’s no fish ye’re buying—it’s men’s lives.

O what a tangled web we weave,

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,

O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,

And come he slow, or come he fast,

O Caledonia! stern and wild,

O! many a shaft, at random sent,

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,

Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.

It is the secret sympathy,

If thou would’st view fair Melrose aright,

And the stern joy which warriors feel

Yet seemed that tone, and gesture bland,

I always have a quotation for everything—it saves original thinking.

The heavy bear who goes with me,

Here was the world’s worst wound. And here with pride

‘He’s a cheery old card,’ grunted Harry to Jack

Does it matter?—losing your sight? …

The song was wordless; the singing will never be done.

I hate victims who respect their executioners.

If I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath,