A man does not come to the almshouse or the jail by the tyranny of fate or circumstance, but by the pathway of grovelling thoughts and base desires.
Solitude is for the strong, or for those who are ready to become strong. When a man is becoming great, he becomes solitary. He goes in solitude to seek, and that which he seeks, he finds, for there is a Way to all knowledge, all wisdom, all truth, all power. And the Way is for ever open, but it lies through soundless solitudes and the unexplored silences of man’s being.
Let a man cease from his sinful thoughts, and all the world will soften towards him, and be ready to help him; let him put away his weakly and sickly thoughts, and lo, opportunities will spring up on every hand to aid his strong resolves; let him encourage good thoughts, and no hard fate shall bind him down to wretchedness and shame.
A man does not come to the alms-house or the jail by the tyranny of fate or circumstance, but by the pathway of grovelling thoughts and base desires. Nor does a pure-minded man fall suddenly into crime by stress of any mere external force; the criminal thought had long been secretly fostered in the heart, and the hour of opportunity revealed its gathered power.
To live continually in thoughts of ill will, cynicism, suspicion, and envy, is to be confined in a self made prison-hole.
He who is daily living in harshness, impurity, or unhappiness is day by day adding to the sum of the world’s misery; whereas he who continually lives in goodwill, and does not depart from happiness, is day by day increasing the sum of the world’s happiness, and this independently of any religious beliefs which these may or may not hold.
Judaea was not a forgotten backwater in the Roman world. Jews represented about ten percent of the population of the western empire and about twenty percent of the population of the eastern empire. By comparison, Jews represent only about two per cent of the population of the United States today. Never, since the fall of Judah to Babylon in the sixth century BC until the twentieth century had Jews comprised so large a part of any body politic.
Jerome says Peter founded the church in Antioch, Syria. If so, January 15–22, AD 34 was probably the time when Peter did it.
I am an ambassador in chains,” wrote Paul in Ephesians 6:20.
Too many people think the ends justify the means. They should all be shot!” said the President.
Well, you know what Stalin said: it’s not who votes that counts. It’s who counts the votes.
Democracy substitutes election by the incompetent many for appointment by the corrupt few. – George Bernard Shaw.
What hideous luck to be wretchedly stuck on this miserable blockading duty! What I need is a ship I can capture and strip to sequester my share of the booty. Oh, the treasure I’d net would remit all my debt and buy an estate with a gold coronet. Oh, captain who’s wise has his eye on the prize while he’s serving his country and King, oh sing, of a well-deserved rest in a well-feathered nest and the riches that duty can bring!
Politics is the art of looking for trouble, finding it everywhere, diagnosing it incorrectly, and applying the wrong remedies. – Groucho Marx.
Washington reflected bitterly. He was short of money, gunpowder, shot, and food. All he had going for him was The Cause, the Rights of Man. Very noble and all that. But just add a whiff of money, gunpowder, shot, and food, and the old Cause might really click. Congress had pledged more help, of course, which, knowing Congress, meant that the aid might come in a decade or so, after the war was lost. He sighed and gazed heavenward. Was a tiny miracle too much to ask?
Publish or perish, it’s a weary dance that every academic has to do. Come up with something novel; it’s your only chance: some theory or some thesis, or you’re through.
President Bo Haydn was bent over the Resolute desk, snoring gently with the tip of his nose submerged in a half-eaten bowl of rice pudding. “Should we wake him?” asked Daisy. “We usually try not to,” said Nelson.
Ray dearly wanted to make a satirical reply to this, but at the moment, when he really needed something snappy to say, nothing came to mind. What did the French call it? Ah, yes, l’esprit de l’escalier, the spirit of the staircase. It’s when you think of what you wish you would have said only when you’re standing on the staircase outside the room where, a moment ago, you should have said it.
Suddenly, a spiral of lightning snaked across the frowning sky and struck Ray and Ilsa. In a spectacular flash, they vanished. An earth-shattering bang of thunder knocked over all the FBI agents. Ilsa’s file of genealogical records flew into the air. The thoroughly singed pages flew down the street, twisting in the frantic breeze. The bullhorn fell from the limp fingers of Agent Schweppes’ hand. The rain began to fall like bullets.
Ray plunged into sobering thought. What would have happened if he had, by some cruel twist of fate, got hitched to this lunatic female? He could just see himself laying his head gently on his pillow, thinking, “O woman! When pain and anguish wring the brow, a ministering angel thou,” when suddenly into the bedroom would leap this female Blackbeard, a parrot on her shoulder and a dagger in her teeth. He shuddered.