Charles Dickens Quotes
The earth covered with a sable pall as for the burial of yesterday; the clumps of dark trees, its giant plumes of funeral feathers, waving sadly to and fro: all hushed, all noiseless, and in deep repose, save the swift clouds that skim across the moon, and the cautious wind, as, creeping after them upon the ground, it stops to listen, and goes rustling on, and stops again, and follows, like a savage on the trail.
Charles Dickens
Quotes to Explore
When the best leader's work is done the people say, 'We did it ourselves.'
Lao Tzu
For a writer, life is always too short to write. I will just try my best during what remains of my life.
Cao Yu
When I chased after money, I never had enough. When I got my life on purpose and focused on giving of myself and everything that arrived into my life, then I was prosperous.
Wayne Dyer
I want to be different and have a good story. If it's a good story, then everybody is trying to tell it, everybody is better for it, and it's just more fun.
Garrett Dillahunt
The idea of a stag hunt evokes chivalry - knights in jerkins and hose, ladies on sidesaddles with wimples and billowing dresses, a white stag symbolizing something-or-other, and Robin Hood getting in the way. An actual stag hunt is more like a horseback meeting of a county planning commission.
P. J. O'Rourke
America in particular imposes an horrendous burden on the world. We have this wonderful standard of living but it comes at enormous cost.
E. O. Wilson
Anyone who is afraid to lose isn't ready to win.
Fabrizio Moreira
A Decade of Laughs (2004)
Bill Engvall
We're rewarding either the reality or the appearance of youth, which is why you have all these people in their fifties trying to act like they're seventeen. You know, it's great to be young. Be young. By all means, be young. But always remember that youth is also kinda dumb, and doesn't know a lot yet.
Patton Oswalt
Mutual funds are an overrated investment heavily promoted by Wall Street.
Peter Schiff
The earth covered with a sable pall as for the burial of yesterday; the clumps of dark trees, its giant plumes of funeral feathers, waving sadly to and fro: all hushed, all noiseless, and in deep repose, save the swift clouds that skim across the moon, and the cautious wind, as, creeping after them upon the ground, it stops to listen, and goes rustling on, and stops again, and follows, like a savage on the trail.
Charles Dickens
