A Quote by Benjamin Franklin

Write injuries in dust, benefits in marble. — © Benjamin Franklin
Write injuries in dust, benefits in marble.
Write your injuries in dust, your benefits in marble.
For men use, if they have an evil turn, to write it in marble; and whoso doth us a good turn we write it in dust.
For benefits return benefits; for injuries return justice without any admixture of revenge.
Blessed be Death, that cuts in marble What would have sunk to dust!
Gather out of star-dust, Earth-dust, Cloud-dust, Storm-dust, And splinters of hail, One handful of dream-dust, Not for sale.
The thing I like most in my kitchen is my marble counters. Everybody said not to use marble because it's fragile, it stains, it cracks, and it doesn't remain beautiful. But I love marble.
You find me at work; excuse the dust on my blouse. I sculpt my marble myself.
I can forgive injuries, but never benefits.
It is a bitter disappointment when you have sown benefits, to reap injuries.
Virtues, of ... Justice: Wrong none by doing injuries or omitting the benefits that are your duty.
Yoga is somewhat hard to quantify in terms of benefits because you see them in all the injuries you don't get.
Guys get injuries and there's a reason why these injuries happen. A lot of time you're going to get your knee injuries and your ankle injuries, but sometimes if a guy's back is hurting it might be because his core isn't balanced with his back.
In all ages the people have honored those who dishonored them. They have worshiped their destroyers; they have canonized the most gigantic liars, and buried the great thieves in marble and gold. Under the loftiest monuments sleeps the dust of murder.
In testimony of their Respect For The Patriot of incorruptible Integrity, The Soldier of approved Valour The Statesman of consummate Wisdom; Whose Talents and Virtues will be admired By Grateful Posterity Long after this Marble shall have mouldered into Dust.
My eye-balls are glass, my limbs marble, my face fixed in its marble mask.
Man toils, and strives, and wastes his little life to claim-- At last the transient glory of a splendid name, And have, perchance, in marble mockery a bust, Poised on a pedestal, above his sleeping dust.
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