Quotes About Beasts

We fear storms and wild beasts, but we do not censor them. If we must guard ourselves from evil influences we thereby admit their seductive appeal.

We have used the Bible as if it were a mere special constable's handbook, an opium dose for keeping beasts of burden patient while they are overloaded.

Only the trees and beasts and birds tell unmitigated truths, because these poor things have not the power to invent. In this men show their superiority to the lower creatures, and women beat even men. Neither is a profusion of ornament unbecoming for a woman, nor a profusion of untruth.

You, most lonely, most remote: how they have appropriated you for your fame. How long ago was it that they were bitterly against you, and now they embrace you as one of their own. And they carry your words around with them in the cages of their darkness and trot them out in public squares and poke them a little from within their sense of security. All your terrible beasts of prey.

We are now so far from the road to truth, that religious teachers dispute and hate each other, and speculative men are esteemed unsound and frivolous. But to a sound judgment, the most abstract truth is the most practical. Whenever a true theory appears, it will be its own evidence. Its test is, that it will explain all phenomena. Now many are thought not only unexplained but inexplicable; as language, sleep, madness, dreams, beasts, sex.

Dreams and beasts are two keys by which we find out the secret of our own nature. They are test objects.

They softly issued forth exhalations of air that smelled like ancient yellow beasts.

We are beasts and this is our consolation.

It is utterly naive, futile, uninformed—to think that our species is exceptional. So designated to master the beasts of the Earth, as in the Book of Genesis!

My definition of man is "a cooking animal." The beasts have memory, judgment, and all the faculties and passions of our mind, in a certain degree; but no beast is a cook…. Man alone can dress a good dish; and every man whatever is more or less a cook, in seasoning what he himself eats.

Esta es mi vida —pensó—. Vivo en un laberinto gigante, rodeado de unas bestias horribles»

psycho monsters.

There were times when I felt there were a thousand doors in my head, and I needed to open all of them to find the one important door. The one important key that would open it. And whatever was behind that door would somehow illuminate what I didn't understand about my life. In the meantime, I had to open those thousand doors and see what wonderful and dreadful beasts existed there, waiting for me.

No one can count the terrors that the earth spawns, catastrophic, gruesome, and the vast arms of the sea swarm with brute monsters bent on harm, and everywhere between the sky and ground lights bloom by day in flares and sudden bolts; and birds and beasts alike can tell of the whirlwind's whirling wrath.

I spent much of the war flat on the ground, listening. Among other things, I learned to listen to the birds. They are remarkable harbingers, not only of imminent rain, but also of bad people and wild beasts.

Beasts aren't sent with wrath because the time is short but, rather, are shaped over time from the wrath that was wrought forth within them.

Humans have a fraught relationship with beasts. They are our companions and our chattel, our family members and our laborers, our household pets and our household pests. We love them and cage them, admire them and abuse them. And, of course, we cook and eat them.

Among the old Norse, it was the custom for certain warriors to dress in the skins of the beasts they had slain, and thus to give themselves an air of ferocity, calculated to strike terror into the hearts of their foes.

While we still have a chance, let us learn to respect the beauty of the beasts.

Inhuman, saith I? Nay: the beasts of the field and forest, lacking all humanity, e'en the most terrible among these, slay not by long deliberate slaying and for lust. Human, then, indeed, were those fell crimes.

They are all beasts of burden in a sense, ' Thoreau once remarked of animals, 'made to carry some portion of our thoughts.' Animals are the old language of the imagination; one of the ten thousand tragedies of their disappearance would be a silencing of this speech.

Fair peace becomes men; ferocious anger belongs to beasts. [Lat., Candida pax homines, trux decet ira feras.]

O Judgment ! Thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason !

Each man's soul is a menagerie where Conscience, the animal-tamer, lives with a collection of wild beasts.