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
What a strange thing man is; and what a stranger thing woman.
Interpretation
This quote reflects on the complexities and mysteries of human nature, both in men and women.
Lord Byron's quote captures the enigmatic qualities of humanity, suggesting that both men and women possess strange and intricate characteristics that make them fascinating yet difficult to understand. It evokes a contemplation of the nature of existence and the duality of gender, emphasizing that human identity is layered with contradictions and peculiarities.
In practice
This quote could be used in a discussion about gender roles in literature.
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.
I liked the thought of being a country clergyman. Accordingly I read with care Pearson on the Creed and a few other books on divinity; and as I did not then in the least doubt the strict and literal truth of every word in the Bible, I soon persuaded myself that our Creed must be fully accepted.
To know that God knows everything about me and yet loves me is indeed my ultimate consolation.
Like sex in Victorian England, the reality of Big Business today is our big dirty secret.
If we do not use great care to mortify our will, there are many things which can deprives us of the holy freedom of spirit that we are seeking in order to fly more freely to our Creator, without always being bogged down with the clay of this earth. Moreover, there can never be solid virtue in a soul that is attached to its own will.
One human life is deeper than the ocean. Strange fishes and sea-monsters and mighty plants live in the rock-bed of our spirits. The whole of human history is an undiscovered continent deep in our souls. There are dolphins, plants that dream, magic birds inside us. The sky is inside us. The earth is in us.
We all labour against our own cure, for death is the cure of all diseases.
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