Quotes 1061 till 1080 of 3090.
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His friends he loved. His direst earthly foes - cats - I believe he did but feign to hate. My hand will miss the insinuated nose, mine eyes the tail that wagg'd contempt at Fate.
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His heart was as great as the world, but there was no room in it to hold the memory of a wrong.
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His heart was like a sensitive plant, that opens for a moment in the sunshine, but curls up and shrinks into itself at the slightest touch of the finger, or the lightest breath of wind.
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His huff arrived and he departed in it.
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His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge.
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His imagination conceived and bore - worlds; but nothing in these worlds became alive until he discovered its true and living name. The name was the breath of life; and, sooner or later, he invariably found it.
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His insomnia was so bad, he couldn't sleep during office hours.
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His Labor is a Chant - his Idleness - a Tune - oh, for a Bee's experience of Clovers, and of Noon!
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His lack of education is more than compensated for by his keenly developed moral bankruptcy.
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His lordship may compel us to be equal upstairs, but there will never be equality in the servants hall.
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His mind of man, a secret makes I meet him with a start he carries a circumference in which I have no part.
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His money is twice tainted: taint yours and taint mine.''
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His mother had often said, When you choose an action, you choose the consequences of that action. She had emphasized the corollary of this axiom even more vehemently: when you desired a consequence you had damned well better take the action that would create it.
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His opinion of verses.
That he wrote all his first in prose, for so his master Camden had learned him. That verses stood by sense without either colours or accent; which yet other times he denied.Conversations with William Drummond of Hawthornden -
His purity was too great, his aspiration too high for this poor, miserable world! His great soul is now only enjoying that for which it was worthy!
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His reputation is what men say he is. That can be damaged; but reputation is for time, character is for eternity.
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His scorn of the great is repeated too often to be real; no man thinks much of that which he despises.
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His style is chaos illumined by flashes of lightning. As a writer he has mastered everything except language.
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His success may be great, but be it ever so great the wheel of fortune may turn again and bring him down into the dust.
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