A historian has many duties. . . the first is not to slander; the second is not to bore
Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind. Because your lover threw wild hands toward the skyAnd the affrighted steed ran on alone,Do not weep. War is kind.
Let me into the darkness again.
Tell her this And more,— That the king of the seas Weeps too, old, helpless man. The bustling fates Heap his hands with corpses Until he stands like a child With surplus of toys.
The man had arrived at that stage of drunkenness where affection is felt for the universe.
A very little boy stood upon a heap of gravel for the honour of Rum Alley. He was throwing stones at howling urchins from Devil's Row, who were circling madly about the heap and pelting him. His infantile countenance was livid with the fury of battle. His small body was writhing in the delivery of oaths.
In the swirling rain that came at dusk the broad avenue glistened with that deep bluish tint which is so widely condemned when it is put into pictures.
Basically, all my life I'd been told you can't do that because you're female. So I guess I just didn't pay any attention. I just went ahead and did what I could and then, when the stars aligned, I was ready.
Place bets on your dreams and be your own hero!
The scandal of the world is what makes the offence; it is not sinful to sin in silence.
Through the inspiration of Vaclav's words, the courage of his dissidence and the integrity of his leadership, Czechoslovakia successfully transitioned from an authoritarian state to a free democracy at the heart of Europe.