Humanism is the creed of those who believe that in the circle of enwrapping mystery, men’s fates are in their own hands.
JOHN GALSWORTHYSuch was not quite the condition of Timothy’s on the Bayswater Road, for Timothy’s soul still had one foot in Timothy Forsyte’s body, and Smither kept the atmosphere unchanging, of camphor and port wine and house whose windows are only opened to air it twice a day.
More John Galsworthy Quotes
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Love! Beyond measure – beyond death – it nearly kills. But one wouldn’t have been without it.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Those are the moments that I think are precious to a dog-when, with his adoring soul coming through his eyes, he feels that you are really thinking of him.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
A man is the sum of his actions, of what he has done, of what he can do, Nothing else.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Love could never come to full fruition till it was destroyed.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Everything we say and do and think has its effect on everything around us.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Only love makes fruitful the soul.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
There is one rule for politicians all over the world: Don’t say in Power what you say in opposition; if you do, you only have to carry out what the other fellows have found impossible.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
As a man lives and thinks, so he will write.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Dreaming is the poetry of Life, and we must be forgiven if we indulge in it a little.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
First one, then the other, getting the upper hand, and too seldom fusing till the result has the mellowness of full achievement.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
One can even tell the nature of one’s readers, by their preference for the work which reveals more of this side than of that.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Take modern courtships! They resulted in the same thing as under George the Second, but took longer to reach it, owing to the motor-cycle and the standing lunch.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Men are in fact, quite unable to control their own inventions; they at best develop adaptability to the new conditions those inventions create.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Love is not a hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a wet night, born of an hour of sunshine; sprung from wild seed, blown along the road by a wild wind.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
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