Quotes on Dens

A bookshop is powder-magazine, a dynamite-shed, a drugstore of poisons, a bar of intoxicants, a den of opiates, an island of sirens.

As I hope_x000D_ _x000D_ For quiet days, fair issue, and long life,_x000D_ _x000D_ With such love as 'tis now, the murkiest den,_x000D_ _x000D_ The most opportune place, the strong'st suggestion_x000D_ _x000D_ Our worser genius can, shall never melt_x000D_ _x000D_ Mine honour into lust, to take away_x000D_ _x000D_ The edge of that day's celebration,_x000D_ _x000D_ When I shall think or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd_x000D_ _x000D_ Or Night kept chain'd below.

I know what I should love to do - to build a study; to write, and to think of nothing else. I want to bury myself in a den of books. I want to saturate myself with the elements of which they are made, and breathe their atmosphere until I am of it. Not a bookworm, being which is to give off no utterances; but a man in the world of writing - one with a pen that shall stop men to listen to it, whether they wish to or not.

Commit a crime, and the earth is made of glass.

The world is the house of the strong. I shall not know until the end what I have lost or won in this place, in this vast gambling den where I have spent more than sixty years, dice box in hand, shaking the dice.

I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then? But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den?

Faith is not an instinct. It certainly is not a feeling - feelings don't help much when you're in the lions' den or hanging on a wooden Cross. Faith is not inferred from the happy way things work. It is an act of will, a choice, based on the unbreakable Word of a God who cannot lie, and who showed us what love and obedience and sacrifice mean, in the person of Jesus Christ

Denn was ist Freiheit? Dasz man den Willen zur Selbstverantwortlichkeit hat.

I hate to be near the sea, and to hear it roaring and raging like a wild beast in its den. It puts me in mind of the everlasting efforts of the human mind, struggling to be free, and ending just where it began.

There were opium-dens, where one could buy oblivion, dens of horror where the memory of old sins could be destroyed by the madness of sins that were new.

The breaking of so great a thing should make A greater crack: the round world Should have shook lions into civil streets, And citizens to their dens.