It is an immense loss to have all robust and sustaining expletives refined away from one! At. moments of trial refinement is a feeble reed to lean upon.
At best, in such depression times, monetary policy is a feeble reed on which to lean.
The value of moments, when cast up, is immense, if well employed; if thrown away, their loss is irrecoverable.
Man is but a reed, the most feeble thing in nature, but he is a thinking reed.
Whenever education and refinement carry us away from the common people, they are growing towards selfishness, which is the monster evil of the world. That is true cultivation which gives us sympathy with every form of human life, and enables us to work most successfully for its advancement. Refinement that carries us away from our fellow people is not God's refinement.
Logic is a feeble reed, friend.
Refinement that carries us away from our fellow-men is not God's refinement.
A man of feeble character resembles a reed that bends with every gust of wind.
"Do not lean on your own understanding." That means don't bring in the crutches and lean on them, those crutches that you have designed and made to handle such situations. Stay away from them. Don't lean on them; lean on God.
As some to church repair, Not for the doctrine, but the music there. These equal syllables alone require, Though oft the ear the open vowels tire While expletives their feeble aid do join, And ten low words oft creep in one dull line.
Yet, when one thinks of it, diplomacy without force is a but a rotten reed to lean upon.
God uses men who are weak and feeble enough to lean on him.
Men... are bettered and improved by trial, and refined out of broken hopes and blighted expectations.
Grandfather, Great Spirit, once more behold me on earth and lean to hear my feeble voice.
Successful trial lawyers are like heat-seeking missiles carrying payloads of information prejudicial to their opponent's case, constantly looking for the chance to unload their cargo, right up until the final moments of trial.
A bending staff I would not break,
A feeble faith I would not shake,
Nor even rashly pluck away
The error which some truth may stay,
Whose loss might leave the soul without
A shield against the shafts of doubt.
Time, by moments, steals away, First the hour, and then the day; Small the daily loss appears, Yet it soon amounts to years