Cecil Quotes

There are some who want to get married and others who don't. I have never had an impulse to go to the altar. I am a difficult person to lead.

Cecil Graham: What is a cynic? Lord Darlington: A man who knows the price of everything, and the value of nothing. Cecil Graham: And a sentimentalist, my dear Darlington, is a man who sees an absurd value in everything and doesn’t know the market price of any single thing.

Be daring, be different, be impractical, be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers, the creatures of the commonplace, the slaves of the ordinary.

The past is gone, and cannot harm you anymore. And while the future is fast coming for you, it always flinches first and settles in as the gentle present.

The name Hitler does not offend a black South African because Hitler is not the worst thing a black South African can imagine. Every country thinks their history is the most important, and that’s especially true in the West. But if black South Africans could go back in time and kill one person, Cecil Rhodes would come up before Hitler. If people in the Congo could go back in time and kill one person, Belgium’s King Leopold would come way before Hitler. If Native Americans could go back in time and kill one person, it would probably be Christopher Columbus or Andrew Jackson. I

How long could you love a woman who didn't love you, Cecil? A woman who didn't love me? Oh, all my life!

First, I do not sit down at my desk to put into verse something that is already clear in my mind. If it were clear in my mind, I should have no incentive or need to write about it. We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand.

Cecil flashed a grin. "Quite. Plus your rather irritating habit of treating your superior officers as your, ah..." Cecil paused, apparently groping again for just the right word. "Equals?" Miles hazarded. "Cattle," Cecil corrected judiciously.

And now a brief public service announcement. Alligators: can they kill your children? Yes.

The boy shall have a proper beating,' said Cecil. 'But I beat him already,' I said, 'and don't tell me I didn't do it properly. I'm touchy about these things.

It’s nice to have a station pet. Wish it wasn’t trapped in a hovering prison in the men’s bathroom, but listen: no pet is perfect. It becomes perfect when you learn to accept it for what it is.

Be daring, be different, be impractical; be anything that will assert integrity of purpose and imaginative vision against the play-it-safers.

Remember: if you see something, say nothing, and drink to forget.

In June we picked the clover, And sea-shells in July: There was no silence at the door, No word from the sky. A hand came out of August And flicked his life away: We had not time to bargain, mope, Moralize, or pray.

Cecil Jacobs is a big wet hen!

Silent is the ruined land. Man is brutal and the rain does not wash away the pain or rid the distant memory. It makes it glisten.

when Cecil talked it was possible to let some of that go. To let go of the worries. To let go of the questions. To let go of letting or going.

Blast Cecil!” said Eldric. “You have my permission,” I said.

It is obvious enough for the reader to conclude, "She loves young Emerson." A reader in Lucy's place would not find it obvious. Life is easy to chronicle, but bewildering to practice, and we welcome "nerves" or any other shibboleth that will cloak our personal desire. She loved Cecil; George made her nervous; will the reader explain to her that the phrases should have been reversed?

Sometimes you go through things that seem huge at the time, like a mysterious glowing cloud devouring your entire community. While they're happening, they feel like the only thing that matters and you can hardly imagine that there's a world out there that might have anything else going on. And then the glow cloud moves on. And you move on. And the event is behind you. And you may find, as time passes, that you remember it less and less. Or absolutely not at all, in my case.

I took that smile and I put it right where the hole in my chest was. It was better than coffee, or chocolate, or a perfect pirouette. I clutched it and held it tight.

I still can't understand how Cecil and my old tutor, Fitz, got along so well, when we often called Fitz 'the Genius' and avoided calling Cecil anything at all, so as not to be rude.

Non est ad astra mollis e terris via. That's my philosophy. Its a quote from the past. "There is no easy way from the earth to the stars.

Birds of the same feathers flock together, and when they flock together they fly so high.

Now, public libraries are most admirable institutions, but they have one irritating custom. They want their books back.

Creativity is a drug I cannot live without.

Now that your speech impediment has been rectified, perhaps you might say something. It would be best if it were humorous. I enjoy a good jest.' 'You are dreadfully rude,' I said to him. He sighed. 'That wasn't the slightest bit funny.

Is there any other way to be? I mean, this is it. This is my body, my soul; I gotta live with it. I'd better get comfortable. I plan on taking it for a long ride.

He scooped up my arm, swung me round. “Let go, Cecil,” I said. “I’ve a strange dislike of being forced.” “But Briony,” he said, “I’m so full of good spirits. I could walk to London, I think!” Why didn’t he?

You don’t mind when he stares at you.” Cecil jerked his head toward Eldric. "He doesn’t stare,” I said. “He looks.

The moon’s weird though, right? It’s there, and there, and then suddenly it’s not. And it seems to be pretty far up. Is it watching us? If not, what is it watching instead? Is there something more interesting than us? Hey, watch us moon! We may not always be the best show in the universe, but we try.

We have nothing to speak about. There never was. Words are an unnecessary trouble. Expression is time wasting away. Any communication is just a yelp in the darkness. I am speaking now but I am saying nothing. I am just making noises, and, as it happens, they are organized in words and you should not draw meaning from this.

Wishing to prove oneself right is the usual motive for scholarship.

It's a fact of life. Hearts are always hurting. And yet they still keep pumping.

Perhaps the world s second worst crime is boredom. The first is being a bore.

On the plains of hesitation bleach the bones of countless millions who, at the dawn of decision, sat down to wait, and waiting died

It seems to me, that no matter what we do, no matter what choices we make, there isn’t a happy ending waiting for us at the end of the long road.” “But that doesn’t mean we give up. It doesn’t mean we stop fighting.

Sometimes, one must do the unthinkable," I said, "for it is the only way to accomplish the impossible.

It didn't matter what he said. The world is terrifying. It always is. But Cecil reminded her that it was ok to relax in a terrifying world.

I refer to them as miracles-although some may call them fortunate circumstances-because I believe there are no accidents or surprises with God.

I smile a lot. I heard someone say once that it takes fewer muscles to smile than to frown, so i'm trying it out.

To think of these stars that you see overhead at night, these vast worlds which we can never reach. I would annex the planets if I could; I often think of that. It makes me sad to see them so clear and yet so far.

Man begets, but land does not beget.

It is impossible for us to break the law. We can only break ourselves against the law.

The person who makes a success of living is the one who sees his goal steadily and aims for it unswervingly. That is dedication.

I no longer believe that William Shakespeare the actor from Stratford was the author of the works that have been ascribed to him.

Is it birthday weather for you, dear soul? Is it fine your way, With tall moon-daisies alight, and the mole Busy, and elegant hares at play By meadow paths where once you would stroll In the flush of day?

If you really want to find your voice, your goal is to journey toward inner wholeness--which is what life is about anyway. It involves self-acceptance and genuine self-respect. from Unleash the Writer Within

The river this November afternoon Rests in an equipoise of sun and cloud: A glooming light, a gleaming darkness shroud Its passage. All seems tranquil, all in tune.

The truly fashionable are beyond fashion.

I kind of went from bi-curious to bisexual in the space of time it took you to agree to fuck me.

How many more are there like you? (Maggie) Enough to make the cast of a Cecil B. DeMille film look like a two-man opera. (Wren)

If there were such a thing as a vampire-puppy-dog, it would be Cecil. Big pleading eyes, asking for an ear-scratch and a nice warm bowl of blood.

I might have remembered what my father once wrote to Henry George, "I never do anything by halves, and am half hearted in no cause that I embrace.

I’d admired him, and yes, lusted after him, but then I’d fallen. Fallen for a man who felt too much and took on too much, who believed if only he worked tirelessly and ceaselessly enough, that he could improve the lives of an entire race of people. And I’d had that depth of passion turned on me – seen it in his eyes, felt it in my heart. He loved me, and I loved him. And I’d love him as long as I lived, and if my soul endured, I’d love him for eternity

I want to make my mark,' he says. But what target, I wonder, are you going to hit?

All things bright and beautiful, All creatures great and small, All things wise and wonderful, The Lord God made them all. Each little flower that opens, Each little bird that sings, He made their glowing colours, He made their tiny wings. The purple headed mountain, The river running by, The sunset, and the morning, That brightens up the sky. The cold wind in the winter, The pleasent summer sun, The ripe fruit in the garden, He made them every one. He gave us eyes to see them, And lips that we might tell, How great is God Almighty, Who has made all things well.

We cannot break the Ten Commandments. We can only break ourselves against them—or else, by keeping them, rise through them to the fulness of freedom under God. God means us to be free. With divine daring, he gave us the power of choice.

Poor Cecil, consumed by a grande passion, only to be told to compress his love manifesto into a haiku. “I won’t try to excuse my behavior,” he said. “It was despicable.” Or a limerick. There once was a rotter named Cecil, Whose Love Interest wished he could be still. Oh well. Unlike some, at least, I’ve never pretended to be a poet.

Poor Cecil. It’s hard to be a devil of a fellow in these modern times. No stagecoaches to hold up. No princesses to rescue. Just Petey Todd to escort, while the easy, expert fellow walks the pretty girl home.

Great discoveries are made accidentally less often than the populace likes to think. (Commenting on how an accident led to the discovery of X-rays)

poetry is not—except in a very limited sense—a form of self-expression. Who on earth supposes that the pearl expresses the oyster?

Then he put that one down behind a framed sepia-tone picture of a baseball player named Cecil Travis and picked up another one and tilted it back to his lips.

No, when it came to avoiding going to church, the church he stolidly avoided going to was St. Cecil and All Angels, no-nonsense C. of E., and he wouldn’t have dreamed of avoiding going to any other.

Night Vale, my sweet and only Night Vale, may you find love. May you find it wherever it's been hidden. May you find who has been hiding it and extract revenge upon them.

Hello and good-bye are not as simple as everyone thinks.

A shame really, because putting the right book in the right kid’s hands is kind of like giving that kid superpowers.

Don't sit around and wait for the perfect opportunity to come along —find something and make it an opportunity.

The barbells and dumbbells you hold in your hands and the way you use them have stories to tell.

Everyone got older but forgot to grow up.

And yet this self, contains Tides, continents and stars―a myriad selves, Is small and solitary as one grass-blade Passed over by the wind Amongst a myriad grasses on the prairie.

Take your clothes off slowly. For me?” Ethan asked as he folded his large hands behind his head. So he wanted a show? Cecile had never done anything that sexy in her life, and she felt she lacked any real grace, but for Ethan, she’d give it a try.

The universe is so very complicated," said Dr Dimble. "So you have said rather often before, dear," replied Mrs Dimble "Have I?" he said with a smile. "How often, I wonder? As often as you've told the story of the pony and trap at Dawlish?" "Cecil! I haven't told it for years." "My dear, I heard you telling it to Camilla the night before last." "Oh, Camilla! That was quite different. She'd never heard it before." "I don't know if we can even be certain about that...the universe being so complicated and all." For a few minutes there was silence between them. "But about Merlin?" asked Mrs Dimble presently. "Have you ever noticed," said Dimble," that the universe, and every little bit of the universe, is always hardening and narrowing and coming to a point?" His wife waited as those wait who know by long experience the mental processes of the person who is talking to them. "I mean this," said Dimble, answering the question she had not asked. "If you dip into any college, or school, or parish, or family—anything you like—at a given point in its history, you always find that there was a time before that point when there was more elbow room and contrasts weren't quite so sharp; and that there's going to be a time after that point when there is even less room for indecision and choices are even more momentous. Good is always getting better and bad is always getting worse: the possibilities of even apparent neutrality are always diminishing.

Half-reps may build your ego but they also build half a phyqique.

I don't write to be understood; I write to understand.

Sometimes, what we are looking for is right in front of us, but more often, I think, one must look long and hard, for she will not reveal herself so easily.

I was born in Hell. But I am no demon. I am beige and colorful. I was quiet in this room. But I am learning to be loud. Can you hear me? I will make my mark, wherever i am. It is my space. I'll make it mine. I choose. I choose.If I voice my truth, no one loses.

Principles are like lighthouses. They are natural laws that cannot be broken. As Cecil B. DeMille observed of the principles contained in his monumental movie, The Ten Commandments, “It is impossible for us to break the law. We can only break ourselves against the law.” While

Little John, watching her standing next to her brother, half-glowering in the old Cecil manner and half-comforted by Robin's words, saw for a moment what it had been like for her as Will's litter sister. Some of what she was good at, and some of what she was bad at, as his pupil, came clear to him in that moment; and something else came clear to him too, but he set it aside so quickly that he allowed himself not to recognize it for what it was.

The application of consistent, logical effort, over a prolonged period is the key to reaching your physical muscular potential.

It is often said that mankind needs a faith if the world is to be improved. In fact, unless the faith is vigilantly and regularly checked by a sense of man's fallibility, it is likely to make the world worse. From Torquemada to Robespierre and Hitler the men who have made mankind suffer the most have been inspired to do so have been inspired to do so by a strong faith; so strong that it led them to think their crimes were acts of virtue necessary to help them achieve their aim, which was to build some sort of an ideal kingdom on earth.

It was a lovely sight," said one witness. "I cannot even begin to describe the beauty of her ascension," said another. "You kind of did, though," said another witness, who was wearing a fedora. "By saying you cannot describe something, that is a sort of apophasis (a paralipsis, if you will), which gives the mind an implied description through nondescription," he continued.

I looked around the room, at everyone who inhabited the space, person and monster, slave and master, aware we were in the madness together, swirling around in the same mess, all out to get something, a piece of our own pie. But I knew that in the midst of that noxious stew, coming to terms with our poisons was only the beginning. Ever forward, Cecile’s voice replayed in my mind. Ever forward.

The text also just grows increasingly garbled. For instance, here it says that our new subway system will streamline the rush-hour commute, but about halfway down, it's a series of nearly indecipherable glyphs our experts insist hint at "non-Euclidian emotions" and "appeasement" (though we think this may be a euphemism for "fares").

She said if good-hearted families travel to Night Vale only to find their subconsciouses besieged with unforgettable revelations, horrors buried so deep as to be completely indescribable, revealing wholly unbearable new truths, then we certainly can't expect these people to return, let alone leave good Yelp ratings for local businesses.

I cannot marry the facts of William Shakespeare to his verse: Other men had led lives in some sort of keeping with their thought, but this man is in wide contrast.

God gave us free agency, and then gave us the commandments to keep us free.

I had seen my refusal as not wanting to impose; they saw my change as giving them an opportunity to help.

Nothing in the world...is so powerful as an idea that tells people exactly what they want to hear.

What a ridiculous sentiment. ‘Adventures’ is just a different name for ‘terrible ideas.

Looking for a snack? Try wheat or a wheat by-product. Dinner? Wheat &/or its by-product. Trying to patch a leaky roof? We have just the thing for you, and we also have its by-product.

Oh,' she said, too bone-weary to pretend: 'I would far rather that I love you as I saw yesterday I do than that I had gone on worshiping you as I did not long since.' And she turned away hastily, and did not see that Little John would reach out to her; and half-running, went to Tuck's cottage, where she could pull on her half-dry clothes, and become a proper outlaw again. At least, she thought, fighting back tears, like this I am Cecil, with a place among friends, and a task to do. I am someone. I wonder if perhaps if I am no longer Cecil, I am no one at all.

She was sad and lost and alone in the dark," Cecil said. "She needed somebody to hold her." "And you think she's going to get tired of that?" "You did," Cecil said. "You shut me right out." "It was your decision, not mine," Dave said. "You are the dearest thing in life to me. You're bright and funny and gentle and decent and full of life. And I will never get tired of you, and neither will Chrissie. It's not up to her anyway. You're the adult. Tell her the truth -- that it was an act of kindness that got out of hand." "I can't hurt her like that," Cecil said. "It will hurt more the longer you let it go on.

Even though I’d been terrified and in pain, I’d thought he was handsome. Except that wasn’t even a strong enough word: he was beautiful in a way that was almost painful. Flawless in a way that seemed surreal, like a figment of imagination. So perfect, it was off-putting, because while it was something that could be worshipped, it wasn’t something that could be touched or loved. He’d been snide, nasty, and wicked, and I’d loathed him. Except even then I’d sensed something wasn’t right, that there was a mismatch between what I was seeing and hearing and what I felt. It was this mismatch that made him captivating, and even as I was grasping for ways to escape, the need to know more about him had lurked in my heart.

I give you this charge, that you shall be of my Privy Council and content yourself to take pains for me and my realm. This judgement I have of you, that you will not be corrupted with any manner of gift and that you will be faithful to the State, and that without respect of my private will, you will give me that counsel that you think best: and, if you shall know anything necessary to be declared to me of secrecy, you shall show it to myself only and assure yourself I will not fail to keep taciturnity therein. And therefore herewith I charge you. Administering the oath of office to William Cecil as Secretary of State, November 20, 1558, as quoted in Elizabeth I: The Word of a Prince, A Life from Contemporary Documents, by Maria Perry, Chapter V, Section: To make a good account to Almighty God

Our modern world defined God as a ‘religious complex’ and laughed at the Ten Commandments as OLD FASHIONED. Then, through the laughter came the shattering thunder of the World War. And now a blood-drenched, bitter world — no longer laughing — cries for a way out. There is but one way out. It existed before it was engraven upon Tablets of Stone. It will exist when stone has crumbled. The Ten Commandments are not rules to obey as a personal favor to God. They are the fundamental principles without which mankind cannot live together. They are not laws — they are The Law.

The study found widespread dissatisfaction with our town's public library, and, when considering the facts, it's easy to see why. The public computers for Internet use are outdated and slow. The lending period of fourteen days is not nearly long enough to read lengthier books, given the busy schedule of all our lives. The fatality rate is also well above the national average for public libraries.

As we all know, the spine ridges of adult cats are highly poisonous. If you are coming to see a kitten that you have adopted, it is important that you check for the location and severity of the spine ridge before attempting any petting. Also, keep your hands away from their mouths. A few of them have developed their venom sacks. We lost two cat adopters already this month, so...let's just be careful people.

Dandogli le spalle apro il rubinetto ed aspetto si riempia l’acquaio per lavarli. Thomas mi raggiunge senza fare alcun rumore. Me ne accorgo solo quando poggia contemporaneamente le mani sui bordi del ripiano, bloccandomi tra le sue braccia. Quel contatto improvviso mi fa trasalire ed uno dei due piatti che reggo mi scivola di mano, sprofondando nella schiuma. «Ok, facciamo così» mi sussurra ad un orecchio, avvicinandosi al mio viso. «Oggi è il tuo giorno fortunato: voglio essere comprensivo. Fingerò di non aver rischiato di rompermi l’osso del collo cadendo in una buca di più di due metri. Sorvolerò sulla storia della macchina e dimenticherò di aver trascorso un’ora cercando di convincere mia zia che non sono il crudele maschilista insensibile che crede. Tu, d’altro canto, verrai con me nello studio, ti siederai e ti impegnerai a trovare un accordo ragionevole. Considera che mi sento particolarmente generoso, cosa che capita di rado».

Thinking back, ladies, looking back, gentlemen, thinking and looking back on my European tour, I feel a heavy sadness descend upon me. Of course, it is partly nostalgia, looking back at that younger me, bustling around Europe, having adventures and overcoming obstacles that, at the time, seemed so overwhelming, but now seem like just the building blocks of a harmless story. But here is the truth of nostalgia: we don’t feel it for who we were, but who we weren’t. We feel it for all the possibilities that were open to us, but that we didn’t take. Time is like wax, dripping from a candle flame. In the moment, it is molten and falling, with the capability to transform into any shape. Then the moment passes, and the wax hits the table top and solidifies into the shape it will always be. It becomes the past, a solid single record of what happened, still holding in its wild curves and contours the potential of every shape it could have held. It is impossible - no matter how blessed you are by luck or the government or some remote, invisible deity gently steering your life with hands made of moonlight and wind - it is impossible not to feel a little sad, looking at that bit of wax. That bit of the past. It is impossible not to think of all the wild forms that wax now will never take. The village, glimpsed from a train window, beautiful and impossible and impossibly beautiful on a mountaintop, and you wonder what it would be if you stepped off the train and walked up the trail to its quiet streets and lived there for the rest of your life. The beautiful face of that young man from Luftknarp, with his gaping mouth and ashy skin, last seen already half-turned away as you boarded the bus, already turning towards a future without you in it, where this thing between you that seemed so possible now already and forever never was. All variety of lost opportunity spied from the windows of public transportation, really. It can be overwhelming, this splattered, inert wax recording every turn not taken. ‘What’s the point?’ you ask. ’Why bother?’ you say. ’Oh, Cecil,’ you cry. ’Oh, Cecil.’ But then you remember - I remember! - that we are even now in another bit of molten wax. We are in a moment that is still falling, still volatile, and we will never be anywhere else. We will always be in that most dangerous, most exciting, most possible time of all: the Now. Where we never can know what shape the next moment will take. Stay tuned next for, well, let’s just find out together, shall we?