Quotes About Play

Mi bella Princesa, your funny little dwarf will never dance again. It is a pity, for he is so ugly that he might have made the King smile.' 'But why will he not dance again?' asked the Infanta, laughing. 'Because his heart is broken,' answered the Chamberlain. And the Infanta frowned, and her dainty rose-leaf lips curled in pretty disdain. 'For the future let those who come to play with me have no hearts,' she cried, and she ran out into the garden.

And the trees were so glad to have the children back again that they had covered themselves with blossoms, and were waving their arms gently above the children's heads. 

The ugly and the stupid have the best of it in this world. They can sit at their ease and gape at the play. If they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat.

The ugly and the stupid have the best of it in this world. They can sit at their ease and gape at the play.

The world is a stage, but the play is badly cast.

The intellect is not a serious thing, and never has been. It is an instrument on which one plays, that is all.

I am glad you don't think I am heartless. I am nothing of the kind. I know I am not. And yet I must admit that this thing that has happened does not affect me as it should. It seems to me to be simply like a wonderful ending to a wonderful play. It has all the terrible beauty of a Greek tragedy, a tragedy in which I took a great part, but by which I have not been wounded.

La ventaja de jugar con fuego, lady Caroline, es que no nos quemamos. Sólo se quema la gente que no sabe jugar con él.

Remember what the poet Shakespeare said, Jeeves? 'Exit hurriedly, pursued by a bear.' You'll find it in one of his plays.

The effect now was much the same as if I had been listening in to a dramatic sketch on the wireless. I got the voices, but I missed the play of expression. And I'd have given a lot to be able to see it. Not Jeeves's, of course, because Jeeves never has any.

We are going to do a play, and we want another man. The man who was going to play one of the parts has had to go back to London. Poor devil! Fancy having to leave a place like this and go back to that dingy, overrated town.

Emerson," I reminded him, "says a friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of Nature, sir." "Well, you can tell Emerson from me next time you see him that he's an ass." "Very good, sir." "What I want—Jeeves, have you seen that play called I-forget-its-dashed-name?

Everything is ceremony in the wild garden of childhood.

Every day you play with the light of the universe.

Child who does not play is not a child, but the man who does not play has lost forever the child who lived within him and who he will miss terribly

The entire universe is God's cosmic motion picture, and that individuals are merely actors in the divine play who change roles through reincarnation; mankind's deep suffering is rooted in identifying too closely with one's current role, rather than with the movie's director, or God.

The Hindus have a saying: "The child is busy with play, the youth is busy with sex, and the adult is busy with worries. How few are busy with God!

As time passed from solstice to mild solstice in those occluded zones of my early childhood, I played beneath the distracted majesty of my mother's blue-eyed gaze. With her eyes on me I felt as if I were being studied by flowers.

When I was in a kitchen I could no longer feel the pressure of the world on my shoulders; for me cooking has always been a high form of play, and teaching someone how to make a meal memorable was a combination of thrill and gift that I never tired of giving.

You want to play the Bogey-Man?...Part's already taken. I'm driven by demons you can't even imagine.

He had made tiny pipes of feathers he had found along the streets; birds answered him here as they had in the hinterlands. A night-bird, singing back to his playing, showed him the loose bar in the iron fence, the furrowed earth along which the bar swung sideways, that told him, as the bird did, that others came here secretly. Around him, the sleeping city dreamed, tossed fretfully, muttered, dreamed again.

She had the look of a mother or an older sister now—the old feminine disapproval of the destructive play of little boys and men.

Play is the creation of value that is not necessary.

History had a way of playing cruel tricks on those who chased it.