Memory heaps dead leaves on corpse-like deeds, from under which they do but vaguely offend the sense.
JOHN GALSWORTHYHow to save the old that’s worth saving, whether in landscape, houses, manners, institutions, or human types, is one of our greatest problems, and the one that we bother least about.
More John Galsworthy Quotes
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A snowy, moonlit peak, with its single star, soaring up to the passionate blue; or against the flames of sunset, an old yew-tree standing dark guardian of some fiery secret.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
The beginnings and endings of all human undertakings are untidy.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Religion was nearly dead because there was no longer real belief in future life; but something was struggling to take its place – service – social service – the ants creed, the bees creed.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
The value of a sentiment is the amount of sacrifice you are prepared to make for it.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
To dislike the clothes and voices of other men – all this was precious to her beyond everything.
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See what perils do environ those who meddle with hot iron.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Humanism is the creed of those who believe that in the circle of enwrapping mystery, men’s fates are in their own hands.
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The young man who, at the end of September, 1924, dismounted from a taxicab in South Square,
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When Man evolved Pity, he did a queer thing – deprived himself of the power of living life as it is without wishing it to become something different.
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Love has no age, no limit; and no death.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Love! Beyond measure – beyond death – it nearly kills. But one wouldn’t have been without it.
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It is an age of stir and change, a season of new wine and old bottles. Yet, assuredly, in spite of breakages and waste, a wine worth the drinking is all the time being made.
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He might wish and wish and never get it – the beauty and the loving in the world!
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
By the cigars they smoke, and the composers they love, ye shall know the texture of men’s souls.
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For, what is grievous, dompting, grim, about our lives is that we are shut up within ourselves, with an itch to get outside ourselves.
JOHN GALSWORTHY