A Quote by Cyril Smith

Superfluous money buys wasted time, propelling desires that otherwise lay buried beneath the feet of honest toil. — © Cyril Smith
Superfluous money buys wasted time, propelling desires that otherwise lay buried beneath the feet of honest toil.
The human animal is a beast that eventually has to die. If he's got money, he buys and he buys and he buys. The reason he buys everything he can is because of some crazy hope that one of the things he buys will be life everlasting.
Tell the truth. All the time. About everything. What's the alternative to radical honesty? Waste. Wasted time, wasted money, wasted possibilities-a wasted life.
Money has no religion. Money does not belong to any class or creed. Neither it belongs to a gender nor an age. Money decides fate. Money also decides status. Money buys you food and money buys a basic necessity like water too.
He that buys land buys many stones, He that buys flesh buys many bones, He that buys eggs buys many shells, But he that buys good ale buys nothing else.
Money is of value for what it buys, and in love it buys time, place, intimacy, comfort, and a private corner alone.
The leaves had fallen from the trees and lay crisp and crackling beneath his feet. Picking one up he marveled, not for the first time, at the perfection of nature where leaves were most beautiful at the very end of their lives.
The large shiny black forehead of the first whale was no more than two yards from us when it sank beneath the surface of the water, then we saw the huge blue-black bulk glide quietly under the raft right beneath our feet. It lay there for some time, dark and motionless, and we held our breath as we looked down on the gigantic curved back of a mammal a good deal longer than the raft.
Mr. Bernard died on a Monday, at the age of seventy-five, his body wasted. He lay in state for two days in the lobby of the Bernard Gursky Tower and, as he failed to rise on the third, he was duly buried.
Record sales don't really mean anything. For us, the pressure is imagining some 15-year-old kid in Cincinnati who buys our album and doesn't feel like he wasted his pocket money.
O little feet! that such long years Must wander on through hopes and fears, Must ache and bleed beneath your load; I, nearer to the wayside inn Where toil shall cease and rest begin, Am weary, thinking of your road!
The world says that time is money, but I say that money is time. In order to earn enough money to satisfy his desires, one must sacrifice inordinate amounts of time. For me, that sacrifice is too great.
Time, O my friend, is money! Time wasted can never conduce to money well managed.
You are rich if you have enough money to satisfy all your desires. So there are two ways to be rich: you earn, inherit, borrow, beg, or steal enough money to meet all your desires; or you cultivate a simple lifestyle of few desires; that way you always have enough money.
Time is money. Wasted time means wasted money means trouble.
I buy mainly Beatles bootlegs and stuff like that. I'm hoping I can go there today. My dad buys my drawings and he re-sells them for quite a bit more and then he puts the money in my savings. I just draw all the time and he buys and I get a lot money [laughs]. It's great. My dad's my best manager I ever had. If I get richer, I'd like to be able to buy more of the real collectible Beatles things. I just need a little more money to be a higher class collector [laughs].
The humblest observer who goes to the mines sees and says that gold-digging is of the character of a lottery; the gold thus obtained is not the same thing with the wages of honest toil. But, practically, he forgets what he has seen, for he has seen only the fact, not the principle, and goes into trade there, that is, buys a ticket in what commonly proves another lottery, where the fact is not so obvious.
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