It thrilled through him when he first felt the keel answer to his hand on the spokes and slide over the long hollows as the foresail scythed back and forth against the blue sky.
Though our smoke may hide the Heavens from your eyes, It will vanish and the stars will shine again, Because, for all our power and weight and size, We are nothing more than children of your brain!
Most amusements only mean trying to win another person’s money.
They shut the road through the woods Seventy years ago. Weather and rain have undone it again, And now you would never know There was once a road through the woods.
What stands if freedom fall?
And some can pot begonias and some can bud a rose, And some are hardly fit to trust with anything that grows...
For undemocratic reasons and for motives not of State, they arrive at their conclusions, largely inarticulate. Being void of self-expression they confide their views to none; but sometimes in a smoking room, one learns why things were done.
Adam was a gardener, and God, who made him, sees that half of all good gardening is done upon the knees.
Take up the White Man’s burden – send forth the best ye breed – go, bind your sons to exile to serve your captives need.
Good luck go with you, O Chief of the Wolves. And good luck and strong white teeth go with noble children that they may never forget the hungry in this world.
Shere Khan, the Big One, has shifted his hunting grounds. He will hunt among these hills for the next moon, so he has told me.
And the talk slid north, and the talk slid south With the sliding puffs from the hookah-mouth; Four things greater than all things are Women and Horses and Power and War.
Men, not children or servants, tempered and taught to the end; Cleansed of servile panic, slow to dread or despise, Humble because of knowledge, mighty by sacrifice.
Fiction is Truth’s elder sister. Obviously. No one in the world knew what truth was till some one had told a story.
There aren’t twelve-hundred people in the world who understand pictures. The others pretend and don’t care.
We never pay anyone Dane-geld, No matter how trifling the cost; For the end of that game is oppression and shame, And the nation that plays it is lost!
He who faces no calamity gains no courage.
I have my own matches and sulphur, and I’ll make my own hell.
Follow the dream, and always the dream, and only the dream.
Englishmen are not usually softened by appeals to the memory of their mothers.