Quotes
Quotes about Will
Bearing His cross, while Christ passed forth forlorn, His God-like forehead by the mock crown torn, A little bird took from that crown one thorn. To soothe the dear Redeemer's throbbing head, That bird did what she could; His blood, 'tis said, Down dropping, dyed her tender bosom red. Since then no wanton boy disturbs her nest; Weasel nor wild cat will her young molest; All sacred deem the bird of ruddy breast.
This guelder rose, at far too slight a beck Of the wind, will toss about her flower-apples.
Every noble crown is, and on Earth will forever be, a crown of thorns.
I shall be an autocrat: that's my trade. And the good Lord will forgive me: that's his. [Fr., Moi, je serai autocrate: c'est mon metier. Et le bon Dieu me pardonnnera: c'est son metier.]
They say Princes learn no art truly, but the art of horsemanship. The reason is, the brave beast is no flatterer. He will throw a Prince as soon as his groom.
But all's to no end, for the time will not mend Till the King enjoys his own again.
There's such divinity doth hedge a king That treason can but peep to what it would, Acts little of his will.
We will ourself in person to this war; And, for our coffers, with too great a court And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, We are enforced to farm our royal realm, The revenue whereof shall furnish us For our affairs in hand.
Broad-based upon her people's will, And compassed by the inviolate sea.
A partial world will list to my lays, While Anna reigns, and sets a female name Unrival'd in the glorious lists of fame.
Kings are earth's gods; in vice their law's their will.
In the firm expectation that when London shall be a habitation of bitterns, when St. Paul and Westminster Abbey shall stand shapeless and nameless ruins in the midst of an unpeopled marsh, when the piers of Waterloo Bridge shall become the nuclei of islets of reeds and osiers, and cast the jagged shadows of their broken arches on the solitary stream, some Transatlantic commentator will be weighing in the scales of some new and now unimagined system of criticism the respective merits of the Bells and the Fudges and their historians.
Who knows but that hereafter some traveller like myself will sit down upon the banks of the Seine, the Thames, or the Zuyder Zee, where now, in the tumult of enjoyment, the heart and the eyes are too slow to take in the multitude of sensations? Who knows but he will sit down solitary amid silent ruins, and weep a people inurned and their greatness changed into an empty name?
The next Augustan age will dawn on the other side of the Atlantic. There will, perhaps, be a Thucydides at Boston, a Xenophon at New York, in time a Vergil at Mexico, and a Newton at Peru. At last some curious traveller from Lima will visit England, and give a description of the ruins of St. Paul's, like the editions of Balbec and Palmyra.
I will be gone, That pitiful rumor may report my flight To consolate thine ear.
A rumor without a leg to stand on will get around some other way.
Whether you like it or not, history is on our side. We will bury you.
Gently on tiptoe Sunday creeps, Cheerfully from the stars he peeps, Mortals are all asleep below, None in the village hears him go; E'en chanticleer keeps very still, For Sunday whispered, 'twas his will.
The world will never have lasting peace so long as men reserve for war the finest human qualities. Peace, no less than war, requires idealism and self-sacrifice and a righteous and dynamic faith.
The key to faith is what we are willing to sacrifice to obtain it.
Dreams do come true, if we only wish hard enough, You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it.
Yet be sad, good brothers, For, by my faith, it very well becomes you. Sorrow so royally in you appears That I will deeply put the fashion on And wear it in my heart.
I can see the humorous side of things and enjoy the fun when it comes; but look where I will, there seems to me always more sadness than joy in life.
Satire is tragedy plus time. You give it enough time, the public, the reviewers will allow you to satirize it. Which is rather ridiculous, when you think about it.
Satire must not be a kind of superfluous ill will, but ill will from a higher point of view. Ridiculous man, divine God. Or else, hatred against the bogged-down vileness of average man as against the possible heights that humanity might attain.
