But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.
Lord ByronRead
The poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still the master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth, While man, vain insect hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Interpretation
This quote reflects on the loyalty of dogs and contrasts it with human vanity and self-importance.
Lord Byron's quote emphasizes the unwavering loyalty and devotion of dogs to their owners, portraying them as the truest friends who selflessly serve and protect. In contrast, it critiques human nature, highlighting how people often seek recognition and forgiveness, ultimately neglecting the pure and valuable qualities that animals possess, suggesting that while dogs may be unappreciated, their love and dedication are invaluable compared to human pretensions.
In practice
This quote could be used in a speech about animal rights to emphasize the loyalty of pets.
But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.
It is the lava of the imagination whose eruption prevents an earthquake.
For what were all these country patriots born? To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn?
Absence - that common cure of love.
Her great merit is finding out mine; there is nothing so amiable as discernment.
But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.
We must remember that there is a great difference between a myth and a miracle. A myth is the idealization of a fact. A miracle is the counterfeit of a fact. There is the same difference between a myth and a miracle that there is between fiction and falsehood -- between poetry and perjury. Miracles belong to the far past and the far future. The little line of sand, called the present, between the seas, belongs to common sense to the natural.
People don't like to make mistakes.
It was all I had, all I've ever had, the only currency, the only proof that I was alive. Memory.
I call him religious who understands the suffering of others.
It is easier to sail many thousand miles through cold and storm and cannibals, ina government ship, with five hundred men and boys to assist one, than it is to explore the private sea, the Atlantic and Pacific Ocean of one's being alone.
A long war almost always places nations in this sad alternative: that their defeat delivers them to destruction and their triumph to despotism.
Subscribe for the occasional hand-picked quote. No noise.