Quotes About Temperament

The conduct of men depends upon their temperament, not upon a bunch of musty maxims.

The happiness and misery of men depend no less on temper than fortune.

The artistic temperament is a disease that afflicts amateurs. It is a disease which arises from men no having sufficient power of expression to utter and get rid of the element of art in their being.

Love of peace is common among weak, short-sighted, timid, and lazy persons; and on the other hand courage is found among many men of evil temper and bad character. Neither quality shall by itself avail.

I can be impatient. I can be a bit short sometimes. You're nearly always shortest with those who are most important to you.

I am really nice. But not in the cage.

I can be really annoying, but I also feel like I'm a nice person.

I'm much nicer then all my characters, let's just put it that way.

An athlete and actor are really two different temperaments, night and day. As an athlete you really keep things out and as an actor you really bring things in.

There's no doubt that I do have extremes of mood that are greater than just about anybody else I know.

The artistic temperament is particularly unhelpful if it is just that, with no end product.

The artistic temperament is particularly unhelpful if it is just that, with no end product. (I

Just for the record, the weather today is bitter with occasional fits of jealous rage.

The weather today is partly angry, leading to resignation and ultimatums.

It was that sleep itself—the act of closing the eyes and relinquishing control of her consciousness—was something she was temperamentally unsuited to.

That was Chas. Furious and black-hearted one minute, ready to crack a wry joke the next.

Rumsey closed with an appeal for nurturing the artistic temperament in young and old alike, "to stoke that Apollonian ember in all mortal beings.

As it turned out, one aspect of my personality would help me in my odyssey: I was a bider. Temperamentally suited to hold out for good cards, well accustomed to waiting. We Anhedonians have adapted to long periods between good news. Our national animal is the hope camel. We have no national bird. All the birds are dead.

New York isn't jobs, they reply, it's temperament. Most people are in New York because they need evidence—in large quantities—of human expressiveness; and they need it not now and then, but every day. That is what they need. Those who go off to the manageable cities can do without; those who come to New York cannot.

I put everything into my poetry that I should have put into my life, and now it's too late for me to start all over again. The only thought that occurs to me at the moment is that in the final reckoning it's better to have been sanguine by temperament, a man of action, and if you must get drunk do it properly and smash the place up.

He had always said to himself that there could be no persistence of personality, of character, of identity, of consciousness, except through memory; yet here, to the last implication of temperament, they all persisted. The soul that was passing in its integrity through time without the helps, the crutches, of remembrance by which his own personality supported itself, why should not it pass so through eternity without that loss of identity which was equivalent to annihilation?

Frank Sinatra behaved himself around Russell Bufalino. One night at the 500 Club in Atlantic City I heard Russell tell Sinatra: "Sit down or I'll rip your tongue out and stick it up your ass." If he had a drink in him Sinatra was an asshole. He'd put on a gorilla suit when he got drunk. He'd go to fight some guy knowing somebody would stop it. He was a bad drinker. Me, if I drink, I want to sing and dance. I guess he figured he was already a singer and a dancer.

Allander paused and gestured with his eyes, indicating the space above Spade's head. "I'm afraid I don't have Jonsten's delicate temperament." He thrilled at the "I," as if arriving at it after a long and tedious journey. "And, forgive me if I'm incorrect, but it seems that you can't touch me in here, not even through a ceiling, which makes those muscles of yours about as useless as your sluggish brain.

She [Madame Bovary] had that indefinable beauty that comes from happiness, enthusiasm, success—a beauty that is nothing more or less than a harmony of temperament and circumstances.