Quotes on Littles

It is not, truly speaking, the labour that is divided; but the men: divided into mere segments of men - broken into small fragments and crumbs of life, so that all the little piece of intelligence that is left in a man is not enough to make a pin, or a nail, but exhausts itself in making the point of a pin or the head of a nail.

The saddest thing about ephemerals was that their little lives rarely held time enough for love.

I would challenge anybody in their darkest moment to write what they're grateful for, even stupid little things like the green grass that made them feel good, the friendly conversation they had with somebody on an alevator. You start to realize how rich you are.

For me, a poem is an opportunity to kind of interrogate myself a little bit.

Sometimes the truth don't rhyme, sometime the lies get millions of views, funerals for little girls is that appealing to you?

Never before have we had so little time in which to do so much.

It is doing some service to humanity, to amuse innocently. They know but little of society who think we can bear to be always employed, either in duties or meditation, without relaxation.

As thou these ashes, little brook, wilt bear _x000D_ Into the Avon, Avon to the tide _x000D_ Of Severn, Severn to the narrow seas, _x000D_ Into main ocean they, this deed accursed _x000D_ An emblem yields to friends and enemies _x000D_ How the bold teacher's doctrine, sanctified _x000D_ By truth, shall spread, throughout the world dispersed.

Overcoming complacency is crucial at the start of any change process, and it often requires a little bit of surprise, something that grabs attention at more than an intellectual level. You need to surprise people with something that disturbs their view that everything is perfect.

The child is not mine as the first was,_x000D_ I cannot sing it to rest,_x000D_ I cannot lift it up fatherly_x000D_ And bliss it upon my breast;_x000D_ Yet it lies in my little one's cradle_x000D_ And sits in my little one's chair,_x000D_ And the light of the heaven she's gone to_x000D_ Transfigures its golden hair.

Into the street the piper stepped, Smiling first a little smile As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while. And the piper advanced And the children followed.

Pray and read, read and pray; for a little from God is better than a great deal from men.

Someone has said it is better to appreciate the things you don't own than to own things you don't appreciate. I hope we will have with us a spirit of appreciation for all of the good things we enjoy, all the blessings that we have, many of which have come so easy to us, with very little effort on our part, and yet they are very real and very choice and are truly rich blessings.

For life is an expression, our unconscious actions the constant betrayal of our innermost thought. Perhaps we reveal ourselves too much in small things because we have so little of the great to conceal. The tiny incidents of daily rouitine are as much a commentary of racial ideas as the highest flight of philosophy or poetry.

Consider seriously how quickly people change, and how little trust is to be had in them; and hold fast to God, Who does not change.

The Church exists for nothing else but to draw men into Christ, to make them little Christs. If they are not doing that, all the cathedrals, clergy, missions, sermons, even the Bible itself, are simply a waste of time. God became Man for no other purpose.

Don't use big words. They mean so little.

The men of Texas deserved much credit, but more was due the women. Armed men facing a foe could not but be brave; but the women, with their little children around them, without means of defense or power to resist, faced danger and death with unflinching courage.

I am deeply sensitive to the spell of nationalism. I can play about thirty Bohemian folk songs ... on my mouth-organ. My oldest friend, who is Czech and a patriot, cannot bear to hear me play them because he says I do it in such a schmalzy way, 'crying into the mouth organ'. I do not think I could have written the book on nationalism which I did write, were I not capable of crying, with the help of a little alcohol, over folk songs, which happen to be my favourite form of music.

Sometimes I heard voices muttering in my head, and a lot of the time the world seemed to smolder around its edges. but I was in a little better physical shape every day, I was getting my looks back, and my spirits were rising, and this was all in all a happy time for me. All these weirdos, and me getting a little better right in the midst of them. I had never known, never even imagined for a heartbeat, that there might be a place for people like us.

In this mob of I's inside, which one is me? Hear me out. I know I'm wandering, but don't start putting a lid on this racket. No telling what I'll do then. Every moment I'm thrown by your story. One moment it's happy, and I'm singing. One moment it's sad, and I'm weeping. It turns bitter, and I pull away. But then you spill a little grace, and just like that, I'm all light. It's not so bad, this arrangement, actually.