A Quote by Jean-Jacques Rousseau
The mind grows narrow in proportion as the soul grows corrupt.
Related Quotes
In a narrow circle the mind grows narrow. The more one expands, the larger their aims.
A man's mind grows narrow in a narrow place.
My hair grows and grows; you cannot stop it - that fellow grows, it grows wild.
Every day my love for you grows higher, deeper, wider, stronger... It grows and grows until it touches the tip of where you are and comes back to me in the loving memory of you, and my heart melts with that love and grows even more.
It is my own firm belief that the strength of the soul grows in proportion as you subdue the flesh.
Moss grows where nothing else can grow. It grows on bricks. It grows on tree bark and roofing slate. It grows in the Arctic Circle and in the balmiest tropics; it also grows on the fur of sloths, on the backs of snails, on decaying human bones. ... It is a resurrection engine. A single clump of mosses can lie dormant and dry for forty years at a stretch, and then vault back again into life with a mere soaking of water.
The body grows slowly and steadily but the soul grows by leaps and bounds. It may come to its full stature in an hour.
The mind grows by taking in, but the heart grows by giving out.
In a narrow circle the mind contracts. Man grows with his expanded needs.
When the mind loses its feeling for elegance, it grows corrupt and groveling, and seeks in the crowd what ought to be found at home.
My happiness grows in direct proportion to my acceptance, and in inverse proportion to my expectations.
It's the most exciting thing to watch God work when I've asked him about something, to listen to him and watch him work. It's like this friendship, and it just grows and grows and grows and grows.
When you hear the music ringin' in your soul
And you feel it in your heart and it grows and grows
And it comes from the backstreet rock & roll and the healing has begun...
Beauty grows in you to the extent that love grows, because charity itself is the soul's beauty.
There's a tree that grows in Brooklyn. Some people call it the Tree of Heaven. No matter where its seed falls, it makes a tree which struggles to reach the sky. It grows in boarded-up lots and out of neglected rubbish heaps. It grows up out of cellar gratings. It is the only tree that grows out of cement. It grows lushly . . . survives without sun, water, and seemingly without earth. It would be considered beautiful except that there are too many of it.
War is like a monster," he says, almost to himself. "War is the devil. It starts and it consumes and it grows and grows and grows." He's looking at me now. "And otherwise normal men become monsters, too.
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