"Do not repine, my friends," said Mr. Pecksniff, tenderly. "Do not weep for me. It is chronic."
Interpretation
Accepting one's condition is essential for peace of mind.
In this quote, Mr. Pecksniff conveys a message about the inevitability of certain circumstances in life and encourages his friends not to mourn for him, as he has come to terms with his chronic situation. This reflects a deeper philosophical stance that acceptance can lead to emotional resilience and tranquility amidst adversity.
In practice
In a motivational speech about coping with life challenges.
I recollected one story there was in the village, how that on a certain night in the year (it might be that very night for anything I knew), all the dead people came out of the ground and sat at the heads of their own graves till morning.
A silent look of affection and regard when all other eyes are turned coldly away-the consciousness that we possess the sympathy and affection of one being when all others have deserted us-is a hold, a stay, a comfort, in the deepest affliction, which no wealth could purchase, or power bestow.
Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried, than before--more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle.
There are not a few among the disciples of charity who require, in their vocation, scarcely less excitement than the votaries of pleasure in theirs.
You might, from your appearance, be the wife of Lucifer,” said Miss Pross, in her breathing. “Nevertheless, you shall not get the better of me. I am an Englishwoman.
Christmas is a poor excuse every 25th of December to pick a man's pockets.
Save for the wild force of Nature, nothing moves in this world that is not Greek in its origin.
To swallow and follow, whether old doctrine or new propaganda, is a weakness still dominating the human mind.
We had stretched out our arms to each other and supported something in our joined hands, but this thing we were holding was like a sort of gas that exists when you believe in its existence and disappears when you doubt. The task of supporting it seems simple at first glance, but actually requires an ultimate refinement of calculation and a consummate skill.
In Brueghel’s Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away Quite leisurely from the disaster, the ploughman may Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry, But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green water, And the expensive ship that must have seen Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky, Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
Television knows no night. It is perpetual day. TV embodies our fear of the dark, of night, of the other side of things.
Just as King Midas turned everything to gold, Stalin turned everything to mediocrity.
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