Quotes to inspire and reflect

Art does not reproduce the visible; rather, it makes visible.

An active line on a walk, moving freely without a goal. A walk for walk’s sake.

The conventional army loses if it does not win. The guerrilla wins if he does not lose.

Power is the great aphrodisiac.

Power without responsibility: the prerogative of the harlot throughout the ages.

’Tisn’t beauty, so to speak, nor good talk necessarily. It’s just It. Some women’ll stay in a man’s memory if they once walked down a street.

He swathed himself in quotations—as a beggar would enfold himself in the purple of Emperors.

The silliest woman can manage a clever man; but it takes a very clever woman to manage a fool.

The man who would be king.

Little Friend of all the World.

I keep six honest serving-men

He was a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity.

The great grey-green, greasy, Limpopo River, all set about with fever trees.

An Elephant’s Child—who was full of ’satiable curtiosity.

And he went back through the Wet Wild Woods, waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone.

He walked by himself, and all places were alike to him.

The motto of all the mongoose family is, ‘Run and find out.’

We be of one blood, thou and I.

They settled things by making up a saying,

When you’re wounded and left on

When ’Omer smote ’is bloomin’ lyre,

Take up the White Man’s burden—

And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame;

And that is called paying the Dane-geld;

A fool there was and he made his prayer

They shut the road through the woods

Then it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’

One man in a thousand, Solomon says,

If blood be the price of admiralty,

Them that asks no questions isn’t told a lie.

How far is St. Helena from the field of Austerlitz?

Five and twenty ponies,

For frantic boast and foolish word—

Such boasting as the Gentiles use,

The tumult and the shouting dies—

Lo, all our pomp of yesterday

And the end of the fight is a tombstone white, with the name of the late deceased,

Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware

On the road to Mandalay,

Down to Gehenna or up to the Throne,

Then ye returned to your trinkets; then ye contented your souls

For the Colonel’s Lady an’ Judy O’Grady

If you can keep your head when all about you

You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man—

God help us, for we knew the worst too young!

Gentlemen-rankers out on the spree,