Dante Alighieri Quotes
This sorrow weighs upon the melancholy souls of those who lived without infamy or praise.
Quotes to Explore
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I think I'm somebody who takes praise with a very big - probably too big - pinch of salt.
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There is no belittling worse than to over praise a man.
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The sweetest of all sounds is praise.
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Praise those of your critics for whom nothing is up to standard.
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He who does without the praise of the crowd will not deny himself an opportunity to be his own adherent.
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Sorrow lies like a heartbeat behind everything I have written.
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Some praise me because I am a colored girl, and I don't want that kind of praise. I had rather you would point out my defects, for that will teach me something.
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Our high respect for a well read person is praise enough for literature.
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It is surely harmful to souls to make it a heresy to believe what is proved.
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If we are bold, love strikes away the chains of fear from our souls.
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Our aim has also been to find a design that will begin to repair both the wounded cityscape and our wounded souls, to provide a place for the contemplation of both loss and new life.
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We say, sorrow, disaster, calamity. God says, chastening and it sounds sweet to him though it is a discord to our ears. Don't faint when you are rebuked, and don't despise the chastening of the Lord. In your patience possess your souls.
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Sorrow burns up a great amount of shallowness.
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My heart is tuned to sorrow, and the strings Vibrate most readily to minor chords, Searching and sad; my mind is stuffed with words Which voice the passion and the ache of things: Illusions beating with their baffled wings Against the walls of circumstance.
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Inopportune consolations increase a deep sorrow.
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Praise the slightest improvement and praise every improvement. Be hearty in your approbation and lavish in your praise.
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Never allow your own sorrow to absorb you, but seek out another to console, and you will find consolation.
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That is very high praise, which is given you by faithful witness.
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To a Mistress Dying Lover. YOUR beauty, ripe and calm and fresh As eastern summers are, Must now, forsaking time and flesh, Add light to some small star. Philosopher. Whilst she yet lives, were stars decay'd, Their light by hers relief might find; But Death will lead her to a shade Where Love is cold and Beauty blind. Lover. Lovers, whose priests all poets are, Think every mistress, when she dies, Is changed at least into a star: And who dares doubt the poet wise? Philosopher. But ask not bodies doom'd to die To what abode they go; Since Knowledge is but Sorrow's spy, It is not safe to know.
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They will come back, come back again, As long as the red earth rolls. He never wasted a leaf or a tree. Do you think he would squander souls?
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You are the universe, you aren't in the universe.
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I'm not in the Lifetime Achievement area yet-I'm still battling it out in the trenches.
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Sometimes I have problems where I get into a mode where even just looking at a page on a screen makes me panic. And getting past that is a really intense thing to do.
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This sorrow weighs upon the melancholy souls of those who lived without infamy or praise.
