Lord Byron Quotes
The poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still the master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth, While man, vain insect hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
Quotes to Explore
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I was raised in Argentina until I was 11 and now I go back there a lot, at least twice a year. It's a country where I feel very comfortable and it represents an important period in my life.
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We have to set our own agenda, we have to set our own standards, we have to be very strong about what we want, we have to be very strong about our passion and if it's not right for you, you shouldn't do it just because you're advised by so-called geniuses.
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My son, Wolfgang, plays drums, guitars and bass.
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Understand that the right to choose your own path is a sacred privilege. Use it. Dwell in possibility.
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I want to be able to make people laugh and cry and feel happy or sad and feel all these different emotions through singing and acting. Hopefully throughout my career, I'll get to pursue them.
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I'm not one to take revenge. If someone does something wrong to me I leave it in the hands of the universe to take care of that person.
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You don't want to take the world over with a whole hamper full of dirty clothes. That's the main thing people overlook. And take a shower, take a bath every day.
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I had no choice in the decision to make myself available. I was not always doing things I wanted to do.
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My professional dreams were coming true while I was living a personal nightmare.
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I enjoy passing time in my house. I'll get up, head out on the terrace, think about what to do, fool around oiling the floorboards or hanging pictures askew.
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If you think about a Thanksgiving dinner, it's really like making a large chicken.
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By no means do I want to try to leave country music. That's absolutely where I want to stay.
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In the jungle, faith also became something very real; it helped me to understand what was happening to me and changed my questions.
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Truthfully, I'm pretty stuck in the '80s.
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Sometimes I'll have an idea for a story or have a subject, and that will inspire lyrics, but most of the time, hopefully, they already exist somewhere else.
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If I really considered myself a writer, I wouldn't be writing screenplays. I'd be writing novels.
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I don't understand why people really get upset about something that doesn't affect them at all.
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Violence is one of the most fun things to watch.
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The vast majority of writers out there, they finish their books, and no one cares whether their book is late or ever comes out at all. And then it comes out, and two reviews are published, and it sells 12 copies.
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You want a drumstick? Like a ice cream cone or a chicken wing!?
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Even though much error and hypocrisy may often be mixed in such pietistic tendencies, nevertheless I recognize with all my heart the business of a missionary as a highly honorable one in so far as it leads to civilization the still semisavage part of earth s inhabitants. May my son try it for several years.
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When I look back on my life nowadays, which I sometimes do, what strikes me most forcibly about it is that what seemed at the time most significant and seductive, seems now most futile and absurd. For instance, success in all of its various guises; being known and being praised; ostensible pleasures, like acquiring money or seducing women, or traveling, going to and fro in the world and up and down in it like Satan, exploring and experiencing whatever Vanity Fair has to offer. In retrospect all these exercises in self-gratification seem pure fantasy, what Pascal called “licking the earth.
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You can see that a city is prosperous by the wealth of goods for sale in the market. Land too we call prosperous if it bears rich fruit. And so also the soul may be counted prosperous if it is full of good works of every kind.
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The poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still the master's own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour'd falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth, While man, vain insect hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven.
