Quotes About Growth

Men from children nothing differ.

we know what we are, but know not what we may be.

Give thanks for what you are today and go on fighting for what you gone be tomorrow

For I am born to tame you, Kate, And bring you from a wild Kate to a Kate Comfortable as other household Kates.

Short summers lightly have a forward spring.

Alas, that they are so! To die even when they to perfection grow!

Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill. So, prithee, go with me.

But you gods will give us Some faults to make us men.

Things growing to themselves are growth's abuse: Seeds spring from seeds and beauty breedeth beauty;

O monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two!

the pleached bower, Where honeysuckles ripened by the sun Forbid the sun to enter, like favorites Made proud by princes, that advance their pride Against that power that bred it.

O benefit of ill! Now I find true That better is by evil still made better; And ruin'd love, when it is built anew, Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. So I return rebuk'd to my content, And gain by ills thrice more than I have spent.

Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upward to what they were before.

Things growing are not ripe until their season:

O thou dissembling cub! what wilt thou be When time hath sow'd a grizzle on thy case? Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow, That thine own trip shall be thine overthrow? Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet Where thou and I henceforth may never meet.

God me such uses send, Not to pick bad from bad, but by bad mend.

Though age from folly could not give me freedom, It does from childishness

New honors come upon him, Like our strange garments, cleave not to their mold But with the aid of use.

love thou the rose: yet leave it on its stem

Small herbs have grace, great weeds to grow apace.

Happy are those who hear their detractions and can put them to mending.

Ä°yi bir kitap... sonunda seni az?c?k yorgun b?rakmal?. Onu okurken bir sürü hayat ya??yorsun.

Oh, Daddy, I don't know what's wrong. I've tried to grow up—to be a good little girl, as you would say, but everywhere I turn I seem to walk deeper and deeper into some terrible despair. What's wrong, Daddy? What's wrong? Why is happiness such a precious thing? What have we done with our lives so that everywhere we turn—no matter how hard we try not to—we cause other people sorrow?

You live several lives while reading.