R.S. Thomas Quotes
There are elites that are real leaders and role models. There are elites that are really selfish and want to pull up the ladder once they've reached the roof.
Great coaches are visionaries. Great coaches instill, nurture, and encourage vision, then model and motivate surrender to it.
Great coaches do not tell people what to think. They point people in the right direction to find the answers. This self-restraint is one of the most difficult challenges of leadership.
After 25 years in business, Mitt Romney understands how jobs come and go, and what we need to do to get our economy back on track.
Of course, losing my father was traumatic. I was an only child. But from the time my father died, my general theme in life has been to turn adversity into opportunity.
When a company goes bankrupt, you as a company have absolutely no say whatsoever as to what happens.
I'm sure that being an applicant from the American School in Vienna helped get me into all seven colleges I applied to.
They've got a Jobs Council that never meets. A Democratic Senate that doesn't act. A President who doesn't believe and a Vice President who won't stop talking. They just don't get it.
Typically you see the home office think up some great program but doesn't think through implementation at the store level.
That man may last, but never lives, Who much receives, but nothing gives; Whom none can love, whom none can thank,- Creation's blot, creation's blank.
And now 'tis man who dares assault the sky ... And as we come to claim our promised place, Aim only to replay the good you gave, And warm with human love the chill of space.
Grief is like manure, if you spread it out it fertilizes, if you leave it in a big pile it smells like crap.
Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?
The language of the age is never the language of poetry, except among the French, whose verse, where the thought or image does not support it, differs in nothing from prose.
Sweet is the breath of vernal shower,/ The bee's collected treasure sweet,/ Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet/ The still small voice of gratitude.
When love could teach a monarch to be wise, And gospel-light first dawn'd from Bullen's eyes.
Man's feeble race what ills await! Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate!
England, so long mistress of the sea, Where winds and waves confess her sovereignty, Her ancient triumphs yet on high shall bear And reign the sovereign of the conquered air.
The applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes.
Now as the Paradisiacal pleasures of the Mahometans consist in playing upon the flute and lying with Houris, be mine to read eternal new romances of Marivaux and Crebillon.
O'er her warm cheek, and rising bosom, move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of love.
Bright-eyed Fancy, hov'ring o'er, Scatters from her pictured urn Thoughts that breathe and words that burn.
The last best hope of life is that at some point during living it, all that you did wrong will suddenly teach you to do right.
A traveler enters the world into which he travels, but a tourist brings his own world with him and never sees the one he's in.
Of course, anybody's who's 26 years old will probably say, "Of course the old guy would say that." But wait until you're 45 or 46 years old. See how you feel about it then.
