Deeds, not words shall speak me.
We must not be content to be cleansed from sin; we must be filled with the Spirit.
A man of words and not of deeds Is like a garden full of weeds And when the weeds begin to grow It's like a garden full of snow...
Great actions speak great minds.
Death hath so many doors to let out life.
Speak boldly and speak truly, shame the devil.
Wine works the heart up, wakes the wit;
There is no cure 'gainst age but it. and
'Tis late and cold, stir up the fire;
Sit close and draw the table nigher;
Be merry and drink wine that is old,
A hearty medicine 'gainst the cold.
The coward's weapon, poison.
Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that 's gone;
Violets plucked, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again.
Go far - too far you cannot, still the farther. The more experience finds you: and go sparing. One meal a week will serve you, and one suit, through all your travels; for you'll find it certain.
Ask how to live? Write, write, write, anything; The world's a fine believing world, write news.
I find the medicine worse than the malady.
Only look to Jesus. He died for you, died in your place, died under the frowns of heaven, that we might die under its smile.
Tyranny is yielding to the lust of the governing.
'Tis virtue, and not birth that makes us noble: Great actions speak great minds, and such should govern.
Man is his own star, and the soul that can, render an honest and a perfect man,
Commands all light, all influence, all fate: nothing to him falls early or too late.
Our acts are angels are, for good or ill: our fatal shadows that walk by us still.
O great corrector of enormous times, Shaker of o'er-rank states, thou grand decider Of dusty and old titles, that healest with blood The earth when it is sick, and curest the world O' the pleurisy of people.
Then, everlasting Love , restrain thy will; 'Tis god -like to have power, but not to kill.
Hence, all you vain delights, As short as are the nights Wherein you spend your folly! There's naught in this life sweet But only melancholy; O sweetest melancholy!
Man is his own star, and the soul that can Render an honest and a perfect man, Commands all light.
Charity and treating begin at home.
Of all the forms of wisdom, hindsight is by general consent the least merciful, the most unforgiving.
Drink today, and drown all sorrow; you shall perhaps not do tomorrow.
Joys as winged dreams fly fast, / Why should sadness longer last? / Grief is but a wound to woe; / Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no moe.
That soul that can Be honest is the only perfect man.
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