Best 159 of Roman quotes - MyQuotes
Dacă mă judeci doar după trecutul meu, să nu te miri dacă vei ajunge să faci parte din el.
If the interest of a scientific expositor ought to be measured by the importance of the subject, I shall be applauded for my choice. In fact, there are few questions which touch more closely the very existence of man than that of animated motors—those docile helps whose power or speed he uses at his pleasure, which enjoy to some extent his intimacy, and accompany him in his labors and his pleasures. The species of animal whose coöperation we borrow are numerous, and vary according to latitude and climate. But whether we employ the horse, the ass, the camel, or the reindeer, the same problem is always presented: to get from the animal as much work as possible, sparing him, as far as we can, fatigue and suffering. This identity of standpoint will much simplify my task, as it will enable me to confine the study of animated motors to a single species: I have chosen the horse as the most interesting type. Even with this restriction the subject is still very vast, as all know who are occupied with the different questions connected therewith. In studying the force of traction of the horse, and the best methods of utilizing it, we encounter all the problems connected with teams and the construction of vehicles. But, on a subject which has engaged the attention of humanity for thousands of years, it seems difficult to find anything new to say. If in the employment of the horse we consider its speed and the means of increasing it, the subject does not appear less exhausted. Since the chariot-races, of which Greek and Roman antiquity were passionately fond, to our modern horse-races, men have never ceased to pursue with a lively interest the problem of rapid locomotion. What tests and comparisons have not been made to discover what race has most speed, what other most bottom, what crossings, what training give reason to expect still more speed?
Hello, Goddess."- Roman Arceneaux
Discover how to visit the past and bring yesterday's stories into our lives today
Wherever you go in the next catastrophé Be it sickroom, or prison, or cemet’ry Do not fear that your stay will be solit’ry Countless souls share your fate, you’ll have company!
Sie kannst du vielleicht täuschen, aber mich nicht." Er sah mich von der Seite an. Offenbar hatte er meine schlechte Laune bemerkt. "Tatsächlich?", murmelte er. "Mmmhmm. Sie tuscheln alle hinter deinem Rücken, wie gefährlich du bist und wie skrupellos und aufregend. Sie kichern wie dummer Hühner. Aber ich weiß etwas, was sie nicht wissen." Jetzt wandte Cain sich vollständig zu mir um. "Und das wäre?", frage er herausfordernd. Traurigkeit ergriff mein Herz wie eine eiserne Hand. "Du wirkst gefährlich, weil du gefährlich bist. Du bewegst dich wie ein griesgrämiger Tiger, und alle anderen sind für dich bloß Beute zwischen deinen Pranken. Sie sind so sehr damit beschäftigt, dich anzuhimmeln und darüber ui reden, wie umwerfend du doch aussiehst, dass sie gar nicht merken, dass sie gleich von dir gefressen werden. Dass du sie kaust und dann ausspuckst.
The woman said something to Roman. He stopped, turned to her, and shook his staff. She crossed her arms. I couldn't see her face, but I read the body language well enough. I shake my magic stick at you!" "Let me tell you what you can do with your stick..."
Marcus Tullius Cicero
No power on earth, if it labours beneath the burden of fear, can possibly be strong enough to survive.
There are times when a man should sleep entwined in the warm flesh of a woman, his flanks plummeting into the perfumed bedding while she lovingly rolls her sweet shoulders into his chest. Whereas, there are times to be stoic and solitary—sleeping alone on a wooden board with twill sheets and splinters that scratch the skin.
»Ich glaube nicht, dass er dich verachtet«, widersprach Furia, die in Liebesdingen auf die Erfahrungen zahlloser Romanheldinnen zurückgreifen konnte. Was sich in etwa so anfühlte, als läse man exotische Kochbücher, ohne je etwas anderes als Dinkelbrot zu essen.
I just wish moments weren’t so fleeting!' Isaac called to the man on the roof, 'They pass so quickly!' 'Fleeting?!' responded the tilling man, 'Moments? They pass quickly?! . . . Why, once a man is finished growing, he still has twenty years of youth. After that, he has twenty years of middle age. Then, unless misfortune strikes, nature gives him twenty thoughtful years of old age. Why do you call that quickly?' And with that, the tilling man wiped his sweaty brow and continued tilling; and the dejected Isaac continued wandering. 'Stupid fool!' Isaac muttered quietly to himself as soon as he was far enough away not to be heard.
The tragedy of Dionysus: Wear a black robe at night, and white you’ll wear by morning; but wear a purple robe to the midnight feast, and when you wake you’ll dress in black to mourn your soul deceased.
I do not believe in the creed professed by the Jewish church, by the Roman church, by the Greek church, by the Turkish church, by the Protestant church, nor by any church that I know of. My own mind is my own church. All national institutions of churches, whether Jewish, Christian, or Turkish, appear to me no other than human inventions set up to terrify and enslave mankind, and monopolize power and profit.
We made love outdoors Without a roof, I like most, Without stove, to make love, assuming the weather be fair and balmy, and the earth beneath be clean. Our souls intertwined and gushing of dew.
The Greeks think they justly honor players, because they worship the gods who demand plays; the Romans, on the other hand, do not suffer an actor to disgrace by his name his own plebeian tribe, far less the senatorial order. And the whole of this discussion may be summed up in the following syllogism. The Greeks give us the major premise: If such gods are to be worshiped, then certainly such men may be honored. The Romans add the minor: But such men must by no means be honoured. The Christians draw the conclusion: Therefore such gods must by no means be worshiped.
Elle murmura son nom avec la circonspection d'un enfant qui s'essaie à des sons distincts. Lorsqu'il énonça le sien en réponse, on aurait dit un mot nouveau - les syllabes restaient les mêmes, le sens était différent. Enfin, il prononça ces trois mots simples que nul art médiocre, nulle mauvaise foi ne réussiront jamais à déprécier tout à fait. Elle les répéta, avec exactement la même légère insistance sur le dernier mot, comme si elle était la première à les dire...
Wanderess, Wanderess, emporte-nous dans un récit de séduction et de ruse. Héroïque sera la Wanderess, le Monde sera sa Muse !
Hayat bize yalnız bir kez bahşedilmişken, bir daha asla sahip olamayacağımız şeyleri kaybettik...
Primul ceai, prima sărutare, prima întâmplare de dragoste, toate sunt la fel: nu poţi niciodată să le simţi gustul.
Nur weil mein Leben unlogisch ist, heißt das nicht, dass es nicht funktioniert.
Our lips were for each other and our eyes were full of dreams. We knew nothing of travel and we knew nothing of loss. Ours was a world of eternal spring, until the summer came.
Bărbatul şi femeia se caută în vălmăşagul imens al vieţii omeneşti. Un bărbat din milioanele de bărbaţi doreşte pe o singură femeie din milioanele de femei. Unul singur şi una singură. Adam şi Eva.
Ô, Wanderess, Wanderess When did you feel your most euphoric kiss? Was I the source of your greatest bliss?
C'est toujours dans les yeux qu'on voit si les gents sont tristes ou heureux. le regard, on peux pas le maquiller. Luca avait les yeux tristes. Même quand il souriait.
En cet instant qui s'étiolait, il découvrit qu'il n'avait jamais éprouvé de haine envers quiconque jusqu'ici. C'était un sentiment aussi pur que l'amour, mais exempt de passion et d'une rationnalité glacée.
Caine Carraway im Anzug war ein Anblick für die Götter. Cain Carraway ohne Anzug war heiß wie die Sünde.
The season was waning fast Our nights were growing cold at last I took her to bed with silk and song, 'Lay still, my love, I won’t be long; I must prepare my body for passion.' 'O, your body you give, but all else you ration.' 'It is because of these dreams of a sylvan scene: A bleeding nymph to leave me serene... I have dreams of a trembling wench.' 'You have dreams,' she said, 'that cannot be quenched.' 'Our passion,' said I, 'should never be feared; As our longing for love can never be cured. Our want is our way and our way is our will, We have the love, my love, that no one can kill.' 'If night is your love, then in dreams you’ll fulfill... This love, our love, that no one can kill.' Yet want is my way, and my way is my will, Thus I killed my love with a sleeping pill.
It made the woman feel like a thousand seas had come together from all worlds, like faraway lands had been bridged together, and the vastness of the known and the unknown were somehow easier to comprehend.
Did I live the spring I’d sought? It’s true in joy, I walked along, took part in dance, and sang the song. and never tried to bind an hour to my borrowed garden bower; nor did I once entreat a day to slumber at my feet. Yet days aren’t lulled by lyric song, like morning birds they pass along, o’er crests of trees, to none belong; o’er crests of trees of drying dew, their larking flight, my hands, eschew Thus I’ll say it once and true… From all that I saw, and everywhere I wandered, I learned that time cannot be spent, It only can be squandered.
If you love my work, you are a good critic. If you do not love my work, you are a 'not good' critic.
Au-delà d'un certain âge, traverser la ville donne désagréablement à penser. Les adresses des morts s'accumulent.
To attempt to build up theories of art, or to form a new style, would be an act of supreme folly. It would be at once to reject the experiences and accumulated knowledge of thousands of years. On the contrary, we should regard as our inheritance all the successful labours of the past, not blindly following them, but employ simply as guides to find the true path.
May a man live well-, and long-enough, to leave many joyful widows behind him.
I sat up in the strange bed fearing it had been a dream, afraid I would never see her again. Not because I wanted anything from her, only her presence. The disappearance of the presence of beauty is the most despairing of events on this time-wheel of ours that rolls onward towards death.
Peki, biz şimdi ne yapacağız? Biz ne zaman uyanacağız, ey insanlar ey müslümanlar? Ne zaman birlik olup bunların hepsini topraklarımızdan kovacağız? Merhamet ve haysiyet sahibi herkesi yerinden sıçratacak böyle bir felaket döneminde, göz kapaklarımız nasıl bu kadar uzun kapanabiliyor? Zillet ve gaflet giysisi nasıl oluyor da bu kadar çok müşteri bulabiliyor? Bazı kardaşlarımız şimdi ancak küheylanların sırtında ya da akbabaların karnında uyuyabiliyor. Frenkler, dört bir yanımızda boyunlarımıza ve boyunlarımıza indirilmeye hazır kılıçlarıyla bekliyor. Peygamberimizin ve güzide arkadaşlarının şehirlerimizdeki mirası, hatıraları, hürmetleri kirletilip çiğneniyor. Kadınlarımıza tecavüz ediliyor ve gençlerimiz esir alınıp köle pazarlarında satılıyor. Bu müşrikler, dehşet saçıcı bir tufan halinde hiç durmadan buraya gelmeye devam ediyor. Frenk diyarından ard arda yollara düşen dağ gibi orduları görenler kaçıp saklanıyor. Onlarla dövüşmeye çalışanların bir kısmı, kendi kardaşlarının ihmali ve ihaneti yüzünden imha ediliyor, bir kısmı da rüşvetle ele geçiriliyor. Ey Allah'a iman ettiğini söyleyen insanlar! Allah aşkına düşünün! Kadınlarımızı, çocuklarımızı, yaşlılarımızı çaresizlerimizi koruma konusunda Allah'a ve İslama karşı bir vecibemiz yok mudur? Bunun çok ağır bir vebali, çetin ve kaçınılmaz bir hesabı yok mudur? Bu hâlimiz, ahireti yalanlamaktan başka bir şey midir? Cihad, sadece bir avuç maaşlı askerin işi midir? Müslumanlar arasinda, bir arzuyu tatmin etmek, şöhret kazanmak ya da ganimete sahip olmak için değil; aynı sahabenin cenk ettiği gibi Allah rızası ve cennete girme umuduyla savaşacak kimsr kalmamış mıdır? Siz Allah'a, Allah'ın dinine yardım ettiğinizde Allah da sizi yüzüstü bırakmaz! Siz O'nun yolunda sebatla durduğunuzda Allah da sizi terk etmez, elini üzerinizden çekmez. Öyleyse bu kayıtsızlık nedir? Allah aşkına söyleyin, bu ölüm ve zillet uykusu ne zaman sona erecektir?..
Atunci am înțeles că nimic nu durează în suflet, că cea mai verificată încredere poate fi anulată de un singur gest, că cele mai sincere posesiuni nu dovedesc niciodată nimic, căci și sinceritatea poate fi repetată, cu altul, cu alții, că, în sfârșit, totul se uită sau se poate uita.
I was at Peter's fondue party,before that was at the mall. Peter's tell me about Peter's, Did anything weird happen there? I was at a fondue party at a vampires everything about that is weird.
What a face this girl possessed!—Could I neither die then nor gaze at her face every day, I would need to recreate it through painting or sculpture, or through fatherhood, until a second such face could be born.
In Sanskrit, there exists no word for ‘The Individual’ (L’Individu). En Grèce antique, il n’y avait aucun mot pour dire ‘Devoir’ (Duty). In French, the word for ‘Wife’ is the same as the word for ‘Woman.’ En anglais, nous n’avons aucun mot semblable à l’exquise ‘Jouissance!
Ursula K. Le Guin
The world is sacred, of course, it is full of gods, numina, great powers and presences. We give some of them names – Mars of the fields and the war; Vesta the fire; Ceres the grain; Mother Tellus the earth; the Penates of the storehouse. The rivers, the springs. And in the stormcloud and the light is the great power called the father god. But they aren’t people. They don’t love and hate, they aren’t for or against. They accept the worship due them, which augments their power, through which we live.
Looking back on my life, I sigh. The caprice of youth goes with the wind, I’ve no regrets.
People who love what they do wear themselves down doing it, they even forget to wash or eat.
A Roman centurion walks into a bar and orders a martinus. The bartender says, "Don't you mean a martini?" The centurion answers, "If I wanted a double I would have ordered it.
Across the Reich, the Gestapo recorded increased the activity of anti-state elements. It’s kind of a helpless protest by those wretches against our celebration of victory. They organize bomb attacks against representatives of the Reich or against the civilian German population. We’ve also noticed murder-suicides. Eighty-seven civilians killed have been reported during the last week. From the Protectorate of Bohmen und Mahren, the destruction of Peter Brezovsky’s long-sought military cell was announced. From Ostmark…” “Enough,” Beck interrupted him, “I’m interested only in Brezovsky.” That name caused him discomfort. In his mind, he returned to the Bohemian Forest in 1996. It was in a different dimension, before he had used time travel. At the time, Peter Brezovsky was the only man who had passed through the Time Gate. He’d offered him a position by his side during the building of the Great German Reich. He’d refused. Too bad, he could have used a man like him. These dummies weren’t eager enough to fulfill his instructions. He also remembered Werner Dietrich, who had died in the slaughter during an inspection in the Protectorate. “… in the sector 144-5. It was a temporary base of the group. There were apparently targeted explosions of the surrounding buildings,” the man continued. “This area interests me. I want to know everything that’s happening there. Go on,” he ordered the man. He was flattered at the leader’s sudden interest. Raising his head proudly, he stretched his neck even more and continued, “For your entertainment, Herr Führer, our two settlers, living in this area from 1960, on June the twenty first, met two suspect men dressed in leather like savages. The event, of course, was reported to the local department of the Gestapo. It’s funny because during the questioning of one of Brezovsky’s men we learnt an interesting story related to these men.” He relaxed a little. The atmosphere in the room was less strained, too. He smiled slightly, feeling self-importance. “In 1942, a certain woman from the Bohemian Forest made a whacky prophecy. Wait a minute.” He reached into the jacket and pulled out a little notebook. “I wrote it down, it’ll certainly amuse you. Those Slavic dogs don’t know what to do, and so they take refuge in similar nonsense.” He opened the notebook and began to read, “Government of darkness will come. After half a century of the Devil’s reign, on midsummer’s day, on the spot where he came from, two men will appear in flashes. These two warriors will end the dominance of the despot and will return natural order to the world.” During the reading, men began to smile and now some of them were even laughing aloud. “Stop it, idiots!” screamed Beck furiously. In anger, he sprang from behind his desk and severely hit the closest man’s laughing face. A deathly hush filled the room. Nobody understood what had happened. What could make the Führer so angry? This was the first time he had hit somebody in public. Beck wasn’t as angry as it might look. He was scared to death. This he had been afraid of since he had passed through the Time Gate. Since that moment, he knew this time would come one day. That someone would use the Time Gate and destroy everything he’d built. That couldn’t happen! Never! “Do you have these men?” he asked threateningly. Reich Gestapo Commander regretted he’d spoken about it. He wished he’d bitten his tongue. This innocent episode had caused the Führer’s unexpected reaction. His mouth went dry. Beck looked terrifying. “Herr Führer,” he spoke quietly, “unfortunately…” “Aloud!” yelled Beck. “Unfortunately we don’t, Herr Führer. But they probably died during the action of the Gestapo against Brezovsky. His body, as well as the newcomers, wasn’t found. The explosion probably blew them up,” he said quickly. “The explosion probably blew them up,” Beck parodied him viciously, “and that was enough for you, right?
Celebrate the Ides of March but remember your own warnings less as Caesar learned, you can get killed in many ways
Then none was for a party; Then all were for the state; Then the great man helped the poor, And the poor man loved the great: Then lands were fairly portioned; Then spoils were fairly sold: The Romans were like brothers In the brave days of old.
Pluteau undele unui parfum, ca şi când urmele sufletului ei ar fi rămas să-l ispitească.
Savaş şöyle bir dokunup geçmişti bize. Bir ufak tırmık yarasıydı bu henüz. Sırada hançer vardı. Böyledir yüreği insanoğlunun: Küçücük bir felakette duracak gibi olur, sonuna kadar dayanır büyük felaketlere
A writer needs to ingest love to be passionate. Passion is a metabolite of love, and good writing is an active metabolite of passion.
The moment her hymen was plucked from her body in the wilderness, Her soul was taken from sanity.