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You cannot hammer a girl into anything. She grows as a flower does, she will wither without sun; she will read more
You cannot hammer a girl into anything. She grows as a flower does, she will wither without sun; she will decay in her sheath as a narcissus will if you do not give her air enough; she might fall and defile her head in dust if you leave her without help at some moments in her life; but you cannot fetter her; she must take her own fair form and way if she take any.
'Ay,' quoth my uncle Gloucester,
'Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace.'
And since, methinks, read more
'Ay,' quoth my uncle Gloucester,
'Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace.'
And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,
Because sweet flow'rs are slow and weeds make haste.
O, my lord,
You said that idle weeds are fast in growth:
The prince my brother hath read more
O, my lord,
You said that idle weeds are fast in growth:
The prince my brother hath outgrown me far.
The art of progress is to preserve order amid change, and to preserve change amid order. Life refuses to be read more
The art of progress is to preserve order amid change, and to preserve change amid order. Life refuses to be embalmed alive.
Create the kind of climate in your organization where personal growth is expected, recognized and rewarded.
Create the kind of climate in your organization where personal growth is expected, recognized and rewarded.
Jock, when he hae naething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in
a tree; it will be read more
Jock, when he hae naething else to do, ye may be aye sticking in
a tree; it will be growing, Jock, when ye're sleeping.
Any life, no matter how long and complex it may be, is made up of a single moment - the read more
Any life, no matter how long and complex it may be, is made up of a single moment - the moment in which a man finds out, once and for all, who he is.
Our pleasures and our discontents,
Are rounds by which we may ascend.
Our pleasures and our discontents,
Are rounds by which we may ascend.
I held it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men read more
I held it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping stones
Or their dead selves to higher things.