Men are but children of a larger growth, Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain.
John DrydenRead
Forgiveness to the injured does belong; but they ne'er pardon who have done wrong.
Interpretation
Forgiveness is essential for those who have been wronged, but those who commit wrongs rarely offer genuine forgiveness.
This quote by John Dryden emphasizes the importance of forgiveness for those who have been hurt. It suggests that while it is the responsibility of the injured party to forgive, those who have caused harm often lack the capacity for true repentance or pardon, highlighting the complex dynamics of relationships and human behavior.
In practice
In a speech about reconciliation, this quote can highlight the need for forgiveness.
Men are but children of a larger growth, Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain.
Of no distemper, of no blast he died, _x000D_ But fell like autumn fruit that mellow'd long: _x000D_ Even wonder'd at, because he dropp'd no sooner. _x000D_ Fate seem'd to wind him up for fourscore years; _x000D_ Yet freshly ran he on ten winters more; _x000D_ Till like a clock worn out with eating time, _x000D_ The wheels of weary life at last stood still.
Or hast thou known the world so long in vain?
Shame on the body for breaking down while the spirit perseveres.
Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.
And write whatever Time shall bring to pass_x000D_ _x000D_ With pens of adamant on plates of brass.
People don't know how to place me in their consciousness. They think, 'Oh, you must be here to make me look good. That's what gay guys are, right? You're an accessory for my straight life.' Just because your limited view is that everyone's there to serve you and that you're the only person in the world. It doesn't work that way.
I tend to see the similarities in people and not the differences.
You can give words, but you can't take them. And when words are given, that is when they are shared. We remember what that was like. Words so real they were almost tangible. There are conversations you remember, for certain. But more than that, there is the sensation of conversation. You will remember that, even when the precise words begin to blur.
But with a sigh he had released her hand, while she was so lost in the fantasy that she hadn't felt it go away, as if he'd known the best moment to let go.
You do care a little for me, I know... but nothing to speak of, and you don't love me. I was yours once till death if you'd cared to keep me, but I'm someone else's now... and he's mine in a way that shocks you, but why don't you stop being shocked, and attend to your own happiness.
I prefer neurotic people. I like to hear rumblings beneath the surface.
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