When the leader passes over all alike, not making a distinction, then the endeavors of those who are capable of exertion are entirely lost.
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Freedom is not worth having if it does not connote freedom to err. It passes my comprehension how human beings, be they ever so experienced and able, can delight in depriving other human beings of that precious right.
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Everything passes. Everything changes. Just do what you think you should do.
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Old friends pass away, new friends appear. It is just like the days. An old day passes, a new day arrives. The important thing is to make it meaningful: a meaningful friend -- or a meaningful day.
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Let me make sure I've got this right. One night in December - in the middle of the rainy season - Joseph returns home from work and announces to his wife, Mary (a young lass of thireteen or fourteen in her ninth month of pregnancy) that they must immediately depart for Bethlehem in order to fulfill some vague scriptural prophecy. It's a journey of over one hundred and thirty kilometers that passes through some of the most treacherous and hostile territory in all of Jerusalem. However, Mary, despite being jerked and jostled on the back of a jackass and struggling on foot through thick muck and mire, manages to complete this arduous trek without hemorrhaging, breaking her water, or using harsh language. No doubt this has to be another one of those take it on 'faith' stories, right?
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There's nought but care on ev'ry han', In ev'ry hour that passes, O:...
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You are just now, here, neither coming nor going. Everything passes by you; your consciousness reflects it but it does not get identified. When a lion roars in front of a mirror, do you think the mirror roars? Or when the lion is gone and a child comes dancing, the mirror completely forgets about the lion and starts dancing with the child--do you think the mirror dances with the child? The mirror does nothing, it simply reflects. Your consciousness is only a mirror. Neither do you come, nor do you go. Things come and go. You become young, you become old; you are alive, you are dead. All these states are simply reflections in an eternal pool of consciousness.
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Men seldom make passes At girls who wear glasses.
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If you think about it seriously, all the questions about the soul and the immortality of the soul and paradise and hell are at bottom only a way of seeing this very simple fact: that every action of ours is passed on to others according to its value, of good or evil, it passes from father to son, from one generation to the next, in a perpetual movement.
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The American father is never seen in London. He passes his life entirely in Wall Street and communicates with his family once a month by means of a telegram in cipher.
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Most modern calendars mar the sweet simplicity of our lives by reminding us that each day that passes is the anniversary of some perfectly uninteresting event.
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The world is passing through troubling times. The young people of today think of nothing but themselves. They have no reverence for parents or old age. They are impatient of all restraint. They talk as if they knew everything, and what passes for wisdom with us is foolishness with them. As for the girls, they are forward, immodest and unladylike in speech, behavior and dress.
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He was a friend to man, and lived in a house by the side of the road. HOMERThere are hermit souls that live withdrawnIn the peace of their self-content;There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,In a fellowless firmament;There are pioneer souls that blaze their pathsWhere highways never ran;But let me live by the side of the roadAnd be a friend to man. Let me live in a house by the side of the road,Where the race of men go byThe men who are good and the men who are bad,As good and as bad as I. I would not sit in the scorners seat,Or hurl the cynics ban;Let me live in a house by the side of the roadAnd be a friend to man. I see from my house by the side of the road,By the side of the highway of life,The men who press with the ardor of hope,The men who are faint with the strife. But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tearsBoth parts of an infinite plan;Let me live in my house by the side of the roadAnd be a friend to man. I know there are brook-gladdened meadows aheadAnd mountains of wearisome height;That the road passes on through the long afternoonAnd stretches away to the night. But still I rejoice when the travellers rejoice,And weep with the strangers that moan. Nor live in my house by the side of the roadLike a man who dwells alone. Let me live in my house by the side of the roadWhere the race of men go byThey are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,Wise, foolishso am I. Then why should I sit in the scorners seatOr hurl the cynics ban?Let me live in my house by the side of the roadAnd be a friend to man.
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Will I spend my life in a wheelchair? Tottering around my lounge, instead of running up mountain passes or navigating glaciers?
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Like fragile ice anger passes away in time.
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Everything beautiful has its moment and then passes away.
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As I rapidly made the mesmeric passes, amid ejaculations of 'dead! dead!' absolutely bursting from the tongue and not from the lips of the suf...
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The end always passes judgement on what has gone before.
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She passes the houses which humbly crowd outside, The gasworks and at last the heavy page...
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Lord, how the day passes! It's like a life--so quickly when we don't watch it, and so slowly if we do.
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Washington is like a self-sealing tank on a military aircraft. When a bullet passes through, it closes up.
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All that a city will ever allow you is an angle on it -- an oblique, indirect sample of what it contains, or what passes through it; a point of view.
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Silver and gold are not the only coin virtue too passes current all over the world.
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Each department of knowledge passes through three stages. The theoretic stage; the theological stage and the metaphysical or abstract stage.
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Women who marry early are often overly enamored of the kind of man who looks great in wedding pictures and passes the maid of honor his teleph...
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As the Arab proverb says, The dog barks and the caravan passes. After having dropped this quotation, Mr. Norpois stopped to judge the effect it had on us. It was great; the proverb was known to us: it had been replaced that year among men of high worth by this other: Whoever sows the wind reaps the storm, which had needed some rest since it was not as indefatigable and hardy as, Working for the King of Prussia.
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What is called vainglory is self-satisfaction, nourished by nothing but the good opinion of the multitude, so that when that is withdrawn, the satisfaction, that is to say, the chief good which every one loves, ceases. For this reason those who glory in the good opinion of the multitude anxiously and with daily care strive, labour, and struggle to preserve their fame. For the multitude is changeable and fickle, so that fame, if it be not preserved, soon passes away. As every one, moreover, is desirous to catch the praises of the people, one person will readily destroy the fame of another; and, consequently, as the object of contention is what is commonly thought to be the highest good, a great desire arises on the part of every one to keep down his fellows by every possible means, and he who at last comes off conqueror boasts more because he has injured another person than because he has profited himself. This glory of self-satisfaction, therefore, is indeed vain, for it is really no glory.
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As the Arab proverb says, 'The dog barks and the caravan passes'. After having dropped this quotation, Mr. Norpois stopped to judge the effect...
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As I rapidly made the mesmeric passes, amid ejaculations of "dead! dead!" absolutely bursting from the tongue and not from the lips of the suf...
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It can take quite a while for a Web page to appear on your screen. The reason for the delay is that, when you type in a Web address, your computer passes it along to another computer, which in turn passes it along to another computer, and so on through as many as 5 computers before it finally reaches the work station of a disgruntled U.S. Postal Service employee, who throws it in the trash.
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