Peace to the shacks! War on the palaces!
Happiness is like those palaces in fairy tales whose gates are guarded by dragons: we must fight in order to conquer it.
Los Angeles has the greatest concentration of surviving movie palaces in the United States, yet most residents have never been inside one of them.
If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottage princes' palaces.
Millions of men have lived to fight, build palaces and boundaries, shape destinies and societies; but the compelling force of all times has been the force of originality and creation profoundly affecting the roots of human spirit.
Men resemble great deserted palaces: the owner occupies only a few rooms and has closed-off wings where he never ventures.
Washington is an endless series of mock palaces clearly built for clerks.
Pale Death beats equally at the poor man's gate and at the palaces of kings.
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.
While civilization has been improving our houses, it has not equally improved the men who are to inhabit them. It has created palaces, but it was not so easy to create noblemen and kings.
Give a boy address and accomplishments and you give him the mastery of palaces and fortunes where he goes.
It is we who built these palaces and cities, here in Spain and America and everywhere. We, the workers. We can build others to take their place. And better ones. We are not in the least afraid of ruins.
Hussein has chosen to spend his money on building weapons of mass destruction and palaces for his cronies.
There's a great tradition in storytelling that's thousands of years old, telling stories about kings and their palaces, and that's really what I wanted to do.
In museums and palaces we are alternate radicals and conservatives.
Ive always believed the road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
There are good hearts to serve men in palaces as in cottages.
The youth gets together his materials to build a bridge to the moon, or, perchance, a palace or temple on the earth, and, at length, the middle-aged man concludes to build a woodshed with them.
Death is the golden key that opens the palace of eternity.