A Quote by Benjamin Franklin

A little House well fill'd, a little Field well till'd, and a little Wife well will'd, are great Riches. — © Benjamin Franklin
A little House well fill'd, a little Field well till'd, and a little Wife well will'd, are great Riches.
Who will cry for the little boy, lost and all alone? Who will cry for the little boy, abandoned without his own? Who will cry for the little boy? He cried himself to sleep. Who will cry for the little boy? He never had for keeps. Who will cry for the little boy? He walked the burning sand. Who will cry for the little boy? The boy inside the man. Who will cry for the little boy? Who knows well hurt and pain. Who will cry for the little boy? He died and died again. Who will cry for the little boy? A good boy he tried to be. Who will cry for the little boy, who cries inside of me?
A Ming vase can be well-designed and well-made and is beautiful for that reason alone. I don't think this can be true for photography. Unless there is something a little incomplete and a little strange, it will simply look like a copy of something pretty. We won't take an interest in it.
It is of no small commendation to manage a little well. To live well in abundance is the praise of the estate, not of the person. I will study more how to give a good account of my little, than how to make it more.
I started spinning house and R&B. I was taught how to DJ from house producers, so it was mostly house music in the beginning. But then sometimes people can get a little tired of hearing the same four-four beats all the time, so if you throw a little R&B in there as well, it gives people a little breather. That's the way I was DJing then when I learned how to spin. That was my introduction to house music in general, which was eye opening for sure.
little sun little moon little dog and a little to eat and a little to love and a little to live for in a little room filled with little mice who gnaw and dance and run while I sleep waiting for a little death in the middle of a little morning in a little city in a little state my little mother dead my little father dead in a little cemetery somewhere. I have only a little time to tell you this: watch out for little death when he comes running but like all the billions of little deaths it will finally mean nothing and everything: all your little tears burning like the dove, wasted.
Whatever you do, do well. Be good at it. Stand a little taller. Be a little stronger. Be a little better.
Well if it's outside of New Japan or Ring of Honor, I'm just worried about tacos, mostly. You gotta go corn tortilla, a little steak, a little cilantro, a little onion, and maybe a little salsa. No cheese or sour cream and all that crap.
Words do not express thoughts very well. They always become a little different immediately after they are expressed, a little distorted, a little foolish.
Holiness is the sum of a million little things — the avoidance of little evils and little foibles, the setting aside of little bits of worldliness and little acts of compromise, the putting to death of little inconsistencies and little indiscretions, the attention to little duties and little dealings, the hard work of little self-denials and little self-restraints, the cultivation of little benevolences and little forbearances.
The last collaborator is your audience ... when the audience comes in, it changes the temperature of what you've written. Things that seem to work well -- work in a sense of carry the story forward and be integral to the piece -- suddenly become a little less relevant or a little less functional or a little overlong or a little overweight or a little whatever. And so you start reshaping from an audience.
Every man is proud of what he does well; and no man is proud of what he does not do well. With the former, his heart is in his work; and he will do twice as much of it with less fatigue. The latter performs a little imperfectly, looks at it in disgust, turns from it, and imagines himself exceedingly tired. The little he has done, comes to nothing, for want of finishing.
It's not that hard to eat well if you're willing to put a little more time into it, a little more thoughtfulness into it and, yes, a little bit more money.
I know all too well what it takes to have a hit: A little bit of luck, a little bit of work, a little bit of talent.
Words do not express thoughts very well; every thing immediately becomes a little different, a little distorted, a little foolish. And yet it also pleases me and seems right that what is of value and wisdom of one man seems nonsense to another.
I don't think it is worth explaining how a character's nose or chin looks. It is my feeling that readers will prefer to construct, little by little, their own character?the author will do well to entrust the reader with this part of the work.
I confess I love littleness almost in all things. A little convenient estate, a little cheerful house, a little company, and a little feast.
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