field quotes
And the boys grew: and Esau was a cunning hunter, a man of the field; and Jacob was a plain man, dwelling in tents.
As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more.
Women are supposed to be very calm generally: but women feel just as men feel: they need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, too absolute a stagnation, preciselyas men would sufferit is thoughtless to condem them, or laugh at them, if they seek to domorethancustomhas pronounced necessary for their sex.
If I should die, thinkonly this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field That is for ever England. There shall be In that rich dust a richer dust concealed; A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam, A body of England's, breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.
In love's field was never found A nobler weapon than a wound.
They fought as they revelled, fast, fiery, and true, And, though victors, they left on the field not a few; And they who survived fought and drank as of yore, But the land of their heart's hope they never saw more, For in far, foreign fields, from Dunkirk to Belgrade Lie the soldiers and chiefs of the Irish Brigade.
L'homme est ne pour la socie te ; se parez-le, isolez-le, ses ide es se de suniront, son caracte' re se tournera, mille affections ridicules s'e le' veront dans son coeur; des 274 pense es extravagantes germeront dans son esprit, comme les ronces dans une terre sauvage. Man is born to live in society: separate him, isolate him, and his ideas disintegrate, his character changes, a thousand ridiculous affectations rise up in his heart; extreme thoughts take hold in his mind, like the brambles in a wild field.
Frankly, I'd like to see the government get out of the war altogether and leave the whole field to private industry.
Souls of Poets dead and gone What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?
We know the war prepared On every peaceful home, We know the hells declared For such as serve not Rome, The terror, threats and dread In market, hearth and field: We know when all is said We perish if we yield.
The love of field and coppice, Of green and shaded lanes, Of ordered woods and gardens Mackellar whiteman likeshimor not.If thewhiteman says he does, he is instantlyand usually quite rightlymistrusted. Is running in your veins. Strong love of grey-blue distance Brown streams and soft, dim skiesI know but cannot share it, My love is otherwise. I love a sunburnt country, A land of sweeping plains, Of ragged mountain ranges, Of droughts and flooding rains. I love her far horizons, I love her jewel-sea, Her beauty and her terror The wide brown land for me!
[Jeremy] Bentham held no post at the mercy of bankers and tripe sellers; he was a man of independent means, a lawyer and politician and a heretic in general practice. It is impossible to imagine such a man occupying a chair at Harvard or Princeton.Hehad a hand intoomany pies; he was too rebellious and contumacious; he had too little respect for authority, either academic or worldly. Moreover, his mind was too wide for a professor; he Mencken could never remain safely in a groove; the whole field of social organization invited his inquiries and experiments.
But what care I? It's the game that calls me Simply to be on the field of play; How can it matter what fate befalls me, With ten good fellows and one good day!
What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield.
Why should art continue to follow nature when every other field has left nature behind?
They do you a decent death in the hunting field.
There'll always be an England While there's a country lane, Wherever there's a cottage small Beside a field of grain.
Outsidetheir laboratories, thephysicianand chemist are soldiers without arms on the field of battle.
It is that cricket field that, in all the sharp and bitter moments of life as they come to me now, gives me a sense of wholesome proportion: 'At least I am not playing cricket!'
Anyway,I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's aroundnobody big, I mean except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff.What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliffI mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be.
Still from the sire the son shall hear Of the stern strife, and carnage drear, Of Flodden's fatal field, Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear, And broken was her shield!
O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow for ever and for ever.
The woods decay, the woods decayand fall, The vapours weep their burthen to the ground, Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, And after manya summer dies the swan. Me only cruel immortality Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms, Here at the quiet limit of the world.
Darkness came down on the field and city: and Amelia was praying for George, who was lying on his face, dead, with a bullet through his heart.
It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk, Though my own red roses there may blow; It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk, Though the red roses crest the caps, I know. For the field is full of shades as I near theshadowy coast, And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost, And I look through my tears on a soundless-clapping host As the run-stealers flicker to and fro, To and fro: O my Hornby and my Barlow long ago!
No race can prosper until it learns that there is as much dignity in tilling a field as in writing a poem. It is at the bottom of life we must begin, and not at the top.
I used to say of him that his presence on the field made the difference of 40,000 men.
I've never forgotten for long at a time that living is a struggle. I know that every good and excellent thing in the world standsmoment by moment on the razor-edge ofdangerand must be fought forwhether it's a field, or a home, or a country.
But there's a tree, of many, one, A single field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that isgone: The pansyat my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass!
Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. She bid metake love easy, asthe leavesgrow on thetree; But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree. In a field by the river my love and I did stand, And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. She bid metake life easy, as thegrassgrows on the weirs; But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.
Webster's New World Dictionary of Quotations Copyright © 2010 by Chambers Harrap Publishers Ltd. All rights reserved. Published by Wiley, Hoboken, NJ. Used by arrangement with John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
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