Eyeofthetiger > Eyeofthetiger's Quotes

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  • #1
    Rosa Luxemburg
    “Those who do not move, do not notice their chains.”
    Rosa Luxemburg

  • #2
    Franklin Delano Roosevelt
    “There are many ways of going forward, but only one way of standing still.”
    Franklin D. Roosevelt

  • #3
    Babe Ruth
    “It's hard to beat a person who never gives up.”
    George Herman Ruth

  • #4
    Thomas Jefferson
    “I'm a greater believer in luck, and I find the harder I work the more I have of it.”
    Thomas Jefferson

  • #5
    Jim Rohn
    “Don't wish it were easier. Wish you were better.”
    Jim Rohn

  • #6
    Beverly Sills
    “There are no shortcuts to any place worth going.”
    Beverly Sills

  • #7
    Michelangelo Buonarroti
    “If people knew how hard I had to work to gain my mastery, it would not seem so wonderful at all.”
    Michelangelo Buonarroti

  • #8
    Patrick Süskind
    “...talent means nothing, while experience, acquired in humility and with hard work, means everything.”
    Patrick Süskind, Perfume: The Story of a Murderer

  • #9
  • #10
    “Hard work beats talent when talent fails to work hard.”
    Kevin Durant

  • #11
    Justin Halpern
    “If you work hard and study hard. And you fuck up. That's okay. If you fuck up and you fuck up, then you're a fuckup”
    Justin Halpern, Sh*t My Dad Says

  • #12
    Martina Boone
    “It doesn't matter how great your shoes are if you don't accomplish anything in them.”
    Martina Boone, Compulsion

  • #13
    Michael  Jackson
    “I'm really very self-confident when it comes to my work. When I take on a project, I believe in it 100%. I really put my soul into it. I'd die for it. That's how I am.”
    Michael Jackson

  • #14
    Mokokoma Mokhonoana
    “Though you can love what you do not master, you cannot master what you do not love.”
    Mokokoma Mokhonoana

  • #15
    “Hard work without talent is a shame, but talent without hard work is a tragedy”
    Robert Half

  • #16
    J. Cornell Michel
    “The pretty ones are usually unhappy. They expect everyone to be enamored of their beauty. How can a person be content when their happiness lies in someone else's hands, ready to be crushed at any moment? Ordinary-looking people are far superior, because they are forced to actually work hard to achieve their goals, instead of expecting people to fall all over themselves to help them.”
    J. Cornell Michel, Jordan's Brains: A Zombie Evolution

  • #17
    “If your dream is a big dream, and if you want your life to work on the high level that you say you do, there's no way around doing the work it takes to get you there.”
    Joyce Chapman

  • #18
    Jojo Moyes
    “I worked out what would make me happy, and I worked out what I wanted to do, and I trained myself to do the job that would make those two things happen'
    'You make it sound so simple.'
    'It is simple,' he said. 'The thing is, it's also a lot of hard work. And people don't want to put in a lot of work.”
    Jojo Moyes, Me Before You

  • #19
    Manoj Arora
    “Ideas do not work..
    It is YOU who has to do the work....”
    Manoj Arora, From the Rat Race to Financial Freedom

  • #20
    “Do not let your good ideas to spend your brain energy, do it with all the effort because the shadow of the success can become a reality only with hard work.”
    Isra

  • #21
    James Joyce
    “He was alone. He was unheeded, happy, and near to the wild heart of life. He was alone and young and wilful and wildhearted, alone amid a waste of wild air and brackish waters and the seaharvest of shells and tangle and veiled grey sunlight.”
    James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

  • #22
    James Joyce
    “The object of the artist is the creation of the beautiful. What the beautiful is is another question.”
    James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

  • #23
    James Joyce
    “The soul ... has a slow and dark birth, more mysterious than the birth of the body. When the soul of a man is born in this country there are nets flung at it to hold it back from flight. You talk to me of nationality, language, religion. I shall try to fly by those nets.”
    James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

  • #24
    James Joyce
    “To discover the mode of life or of art whereby my spirit could express itself in unfettered freedom.”
    James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

  • #25
    James Joyce
    “His eyes were dimmed with tears, and, looking humbly up to heaven, he wept for the innocence he had lost.”
    James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

  • #26
    James Joyce
    “It pained him that he did not know well what politics meant and that he did not know where the universe ended. He felt small and weak. When would he be like the fellows in poetry and rhetoric? They had big voices and big boots and they studied trigonometry. That was very far away. First came the vacation and then the next term and then vacation again and then again another term and then again the vacation. It was like a train going in and out of tunnels and that was like the noise of the boys eating in the refectory when you opened and closed the flaps of the ears. Term, vacation; tunnel, out; noise, stop. How far away it was! It was better to go to bed to sleep. Only prayers in the chapel and then bed. He shivered and yawned. It would be lovely in bed after the sheets got a bit hot. First they were so cold to get into. He shivered to think how cold they were first. But then they got hot and then he could sleep. It was lovely to be tired. He yawned again. Night prayers and then bed: he shivered and wanted to yawn. It would be lovely in a few minutes. He felt a warm glow creeping up from the cold shivering sheets, warmer and warmer till he felt warm all over, ever so warm and yet he shivered a little and still wanted to yawn.”
    James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
    tags: life

  • #27
    James Joyce
    “Such moments passed and the wasting fires of lust sprang up again. The verses passed from his lips and the inarticulate cries and the unspoken brutal words rushed forth from his brain to force a passage. His blood was in revolt. He wandered up and down the dark slimy streets peering into the gloom of lanes and doorways, listening eagerly for any sound. He moaned to himself like some baffled prowling beast. He wanted to sin with another of his kind, to force another being to sin with him and to exult with her in sin. He felt some dark presence moving irresistibly upon him from the darkness, a presence subtle and murmurous as a flood filling him wholly with itself. Its murmur besieged his ears like the murmur of some multitude in sleep; its subtle streams penetrated his being. His hands clenched convulsively and his teeth set together as he suffered the agony of its penetration. He stretched out his arms in the street to hold fast the frail swooning form that eluded him and incited him: and the cry that he had strangled for so long in his throat issued from his lips. It broke from him like a wail of despair from a hell of sufferers and died in a wail of furious entreaty, a cry for an iniquitous abandonment, a cry which was but the echo of an obscene scrawl which he had read on the oozing wall of a urinal.”
    James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
    tags: lust, sin

  • #28
    James Joyce
    “Stephen watched the three glasses being raised from the counter as his father and his two cronies drank to the memory of their past. An abyss of fortune or of temperament sundered him from them. His mind seemed older than theirs: it shone coldly on their strifes and happiness and regrets like a moon upon a younger earth. No life or youth stirred in him as it had stirred in them. He had known neither the pleasure of companionship with others nor the vigour of rude male health nor filial piety. Nothing stirred within his soul but a cold and cruel and loveless lust. His childhood was dead or lost and with it his soul capable of simple joys, and he was drifting amid life like the barren shell of the moon.

    Art thou pale for weariness
    Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth,
    Wandering companionless...?

    He repeated to himself the lines of Shelley's fragment. Its alternation of sad human ineffectiveness with vast inhuman cycles of activity chilled him, and he forgot his own human and ineffectual grieving.”
    James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

  • #29
    James Joyce
    “To live, to err, to fall, to triumph, to recreate life out of life. A wild angel appeared to him, the angel of mortal youth and beauty, an envoy from the fair courts of life, to throw open before him in an instant of ecstasy the gates of all the ways of error and glory. On and on and on and on!”
    James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

  • #30
    James Joyce
    “A girl stood before him in midstream, alone and still, gazing out to sea. She seemed like one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long slender bare legs were delicate as a crane's and pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and soft-hued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips, where the white fringes of her drawers were like feathering of soft white down. Her slate-blue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a bird's, soft and slight, slight and soft as the breast of some dark-plumaged dove. But her long fair hair was girlish: and girlish, and touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face.”
    James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man



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