A Quote by H. L. Mencken

Life is a dead-end street. — © H. L. Mencken
Life is a dead-end street.
A dead end street is a good place to turn around. Can't really fault the logic of that, unless you want to go down the dead end of course!
I live at the end of a dead end one way street. I don't know how I got there.
There are no dead-end jobs. There are no dead-end jobs. There are only dead-end people. Our current social philosophy, and the welfare state apparatus based on it, are creating more dead-end people.
Failure is a detour, not a dead-end street.
A dead end street is a good place to turn around.
Failure is delay, but not defeat. It is a temporary detour, not a dead-end street.
I live on a one-way street that's also a dead end. I'm not sure how I got there.
Consensus reality seemed like a dull, dead-end street compared to the intense, mutable reality of visions or whatever they were - neurological misfires. I expected life to be full of sudden, inexplicable surprises. When these things didn't happen for a while, life seemed dull and painful.
A dead end can never be a one way street; you can always turn around and take another road.
Worry compounds the futility of being trapped on a dead-end street. Thinking opens new avenues.
There are no dead ends in life, only dead end thinking.
A couple years ago, I felt like I was in a dead end, and I kept asking myself, "How do you get out of a dead end?" People would say the answer is, "You just turn around." But that was not the answer that I was going to accept. I realized, for me, that getting out of a dead end was literally the world turning upside down, and I had to fall out of the dead end. So you have to surrender, so I've really learned how to surrender, practice unconditional love. With my art, I've always put out things I love.
I started out on photography accidentally. A policeman came to a stop at the end of my street, and a guy knifed him at the end of my street. That's how I became a photographer. I photographed the gangs that I went to school with.
Haunted Gulp down your wine, old friends of mine, Roar through the darkness, stamp and sing And lay ghost hands on everything, But leave the noonday's warm sunshine To living lads for mirth and wine. I met you suddenly down the street, Strangers assume your phantom faces, You grin at me from daylight places, Dead, long dead, I'm ashamed to greet Dead men down the morning street.
Loving him was like driving a new Maserati down a dead end street; faster than the winds, passionate as sin, ending so suddenly.
When he's late for dinner, I know he's either having an affair or is lying dead in the street. I always hope it's the street.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!