Epes Sargent Quotes
The cold blast at the casement beats;The window-panes are white;The snow whirls through the empty streets;It is a dreary night!
Quotes to Explore
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I was told there would be riots in the streets, but there were no riots.
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There's a lot of demand to hear the new Kanye West album before it hits the streets. There's much less demand to read the new Phillip Roth novel.
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Growing up, my favorite pass-rusher was Julius Peppers. He was just a beast.
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Rap is from the streets and I'm from the streets. That's why a lot of people accept me.
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Too many words are lit for a beast of burden.
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Yes I’m a beast and I feast when I conquer!
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I'm a big history buff so to walk the streets...the ancient world like that was pretty astounding.
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Imagine if your business burned down and you had to walk across the street and start again, what would you do differently?
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Remember the people in the back streets of Derby.
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The wild, cruel beast is not behind the bars of the cage. He is in front of it.
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Everyone ought to take every opportunity to blast lawyers.
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The misanthrope, as an essentially solitary man, is not a man at all: he must be a beast or a god.
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Beasts feed. Man eats. Only the man of intellect knows how to eat.
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He should sweep streets so well that all the host of heaven and earth will pause to say, 'Here lives a great street-sweeper who did his job well'
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You'd be so lean, that blast of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might Become your time of day.
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Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe, Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast; Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so.
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For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
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Fame is like getting across the street. It's like, if there's nothing to be across the street for, it's a pointless destination.
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Streetcar is a most wonderful, wonderful play.
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I am really heavy into songwriting.
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The labour of digging and watering, the anxious zeal with which I pounced on weeds, the poring over gardening books, the plans made as I sat on the little seat in the middle gazing admiringly and with the eye of faith on the trim surface so soon to be gemmed with a thousand flowers, the reckless expenditure of pfennings^ the humiliation of my position in regard to Fraulein Wundermacher, all, all had been in vain.
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The cold blast at the casement beats;The window-panes are white;The snow whirls through the empty streets;It is a dreary night!
