The force of the blow depends on the resistance. It is sometimes better not to struggle against temptation. Either fly or yield at once.
F. H. BRADLEYAdam knew Eve his wife and she conceived. It is a pity that this is still the only knowledge of their wives at which some men seem to arrive.
More F. H. Bradley Quotes
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Religion is rather the attempt to express the complete reality of goodness through every aspect of our being.
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The deadliest foe to virtue would be complete self-knowledge.
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One said of suicide, As long as one has brains one should not blow them out. And another answered, But when one has ceased to have them, too often one cannot.
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Adam knew Eve his wife and she conceived. It is a pity that this is still the only knowledge of their wives at which some men seem to arrive.
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Few people would not be the worse for complete sincerity.
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My external sensations are no less private to my self than are my thoughts or my feelings. In either case my experience falls within my own circle, a circle closed on the outside… the whole world for each is peculiar and private to that soul.
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Where everything is bad it must be good to know the worst.
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It is by a wise economy of nature that those who suffer without change, and whom no one can help, become uninteresting. Yet so it may happen that those who need sympathy the most often attract it the least.
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The propriety of some persons seems to consist in having improper thoughts about their neighbors.
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We say that a girl with her doll anticipates the mother. It is more true, perhaps, that most mothers are still but children with playthings.
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There are those who so dislike the nude that they find something indecent in the naked truth.
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The cost of a thing is what I call life which has to be exchanged for it, immediately or in the long run.
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There are persons who, when they cease to shock us, cease to interest us.
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The Self has turned out to mean so many things, to mean them so ambiguously, and to be so wavering in its application, that we do not feel encouraged.
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Our live experiences, fixed in aphorisms, stiffen into cold epigrams. Our heart’s blood, as we write it, turns to mere dull ink.
F. H. BRADLEY