No mockery in the world ever sounds to me as hollow as that of being told to cultivate happiness Happiness is not a potato, to be planted in mould, and tilled with manure.
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A great proportion of architectural ornaments are literally hollow, and a September gale would strip them off, like borrowed plumes, without i...
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Ceremony was but devised at first to set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, recanting goodness, sorry ere 'Tis shown; but where there is true friendship, there needs none.
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What would you have me do? Search out some powerful patronage, and be Like crawling ivy clinging to a tree? No thank you. Dedicate, like all the others, Verses to plutocrats, while caution smothers Whatever might offend my lord and master? No thank you. Kneel until my knee-caps fester, Bend my back until I crack my spine, And scratch another’s back if he’ll scratch mine? No thank you. Dining out to curry favour, Meeting the influential till I slaver, Suiting my style to what the critics want With slavish copy of the latest can’t? No thanks! Ready to jump through any hoop To be the great man of a little group? Be blown off course, with madrigals for sails, By the old women sighing through their veils? Labouring to write a line of such good breeding Its only fault is that it’s not worth reading? To ingratiate myself, abject with fear, And fawn and flatter to avoid a sneer? No thanks, no thanks, no thanks! But just to sing, Dream, laugh, and take my tilt of wing, To cock a snook whenever I shall choose, To fight for yes and no, come win or lose, To travel without thought of fame or fortune Wherever I care to go to under the moon! Never to write a line that hasn’t come Directly from my heart: and so, with some Modesty, to tell myself: My boy, Be satisfied with a flower, a fruit, the joy Of a single leaf, so long as it was grown In your own garden. Then, if success is won By any chance, you have nothing to render to A hollow Caesar: the merit belongs to you. In short, I won’t be a parasite; I’ll be My own intention, stand alone and free, And suit my voice to what my own eyes see!
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No man may him hide From Death hollow-eyed,
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While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea.
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To be shelterless and alone in the open country, hearing the wind moan and watching for day through the whole long weary night; to listen to the falling rain, and crouch for warmth beneath the lee of some old barn or rick, or in the hollow of a tree; are dismal things -- but not so dismal as the wandering up and down where shelter is, and beds and sleepers are by thousands; a houseless rejected creature.
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The stage is about to be swept of corpses. You have no more chance than an infusorian Lodged in a hollow molar of an eohippus.
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Thus much for thy assurance know; a hollow friend is but a hellish foe.
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But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.
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Better than a thousand hollow words, is one word that brings peace
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We are all Barbie Dolls. The world dresses us up in different outfits and tries to make us what they want us to be. But inside, we are all still just hollow plastic shells.
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America is said to have the highest per capita boredom of any spot on earth! We know that because we have the greatest number of artificial amusements of any country. People have become so empty that they can't even entertain themselves. They have to pay other people to amuse them, to make them laugh, to try to make them feel warm and happy and comfortable for a few minutes, to try to lose that awful, frightening, hollow feeling--that terrible, dreaded feeling of being lost and alone.
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As well have a talon as a finger, a muzzle as a mouth, as well have a hollow as a heart.
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Four snakes gliding up and down a hollow for no purpose that I could see -- not to eat, not for love, but only gliding.
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Those who cannot work with their hearts achieve but a hollow, half-hearted success that breeds bitterness all around.
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What is hope? nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.
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Colossians 2:8:
See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the elemental spiritual forces of this world rather than on Christ.
(NIV)
See to it that no one carries you off as spoil or makes you yourselves captive by his so-called philosophy and intellectualism and vain deceit (idle fancies and plain nonsense), following human tradition (men's ideas of the material rather than the spiritual world), just crude notions following the rudimentary and elemental teachings of the universe and disregarding [the teachings of] Christ (the Messiah).
(AMP)
Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit, after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ.
(KJV)
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War is dark. Black as pitch. It is not a God. It does not laugh or weep. It rewards neither skill nor daring. It is not a trial of souls, not the measure of wills. Even less is it a tool, a means to some womanish end. It is merely the place where the iron bones of the earth meet the hollow bones of men and break them.
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I range the fields with pensive tread, And pace the hollow rooms, And feel (companion of the dead) I'm living in the tombs.
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Within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king...
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Even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering.
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Without trust, words become the hollow sound of a wooden gong. With trust, words become life itself.
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I have found that hollow, which even I had relied on for solid.
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Politics is like a sock -- stinking and hollow.
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Better than a thousand hollow words, is one word that brings peace.
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When a book and a head collide and there is a hollow sound, is it always from the book?
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