A Quote by Johann Kaspar Lavater

Be not the fourth friend of him who had three before and lost them. — © Johann Kaspar Lavater
Be not the fourth friend of him who had three before and lost them.
On New Year's Eve, my dear friend lost his battle with depression . . . Though he wasn't the first friend I've lost to suicide, I sure hope he's the last. I wish I had the chance to go back and tell them what they meant to me. I wish I had the chance to beg them to seek help, to keep fighting. I wish they knew that they were surrounded by countless others who struggle on a daily basis.
The service a man renders his friend is trivial and selfish, compared with the service he knows his friend stood in readiness to yield him, alike before he had begun to serve his friend, and now also. Compared with that good-will I bear my friend, the benefit it is in my power to render him seems small.
My best friend had a hockey scholarship at Ohio State, so I would get a couple of pairs at the beginning of the season and send them down to him. They practised two hours a day. He'd skate in them for three weeks then ship them back.
I wrote a query letter to an editor - a friend of a friend. The editor called me an idiot, told me never to contact an editor directly, and then recommended three literary agents he had worked with before. Laurie Fox was one of them, and I've never looked back.
I have lost almost every friend that I had before Casey died.
But all three of them had had to lose things in order to gain other things. Will had lost his shell and his cool and his distance, and he felt scared and vulnerable, but he got to be with Rachel; and Fiona had lost a big chunk of Marcus, and she got to stay away from the casualty ward; and Marcus had lost himself, and got to walk home from school with his shoes on.
When he stood trembling with fear before the captor, bruised from falls by the restrictive rope, made submissive by choking, clogs, cuts and starvation, he had lost what made him so beautiful and free....One out of every three mustangs captured in south west Texas was expected to die before they were tamed. The process often broke the spirits of the other two.
Southerners have been known to stay over the Fourth and not get home before Thanksgiving. Some oldtimers take in overnight guests and keep them through three generations.
How did the senator know that children meant happiness? Could he see into their souls? What if the moment they were out of sight, three of them jumped the fourth and began beating him up?
I've had three marriages end in disaster. Lynne knew the score when she married me. It was always just a matter of time before she became the fourth ex-Mrs. Peter Sellers.
In 2013, before the publication of my fourth novel, I met with a stylist at Nordstrom. Since then, I've rarely shopped for 'event clothes' on my own. I usually do it with my sisters or a friend; if I'm alone, I take pictures of myself in the dressing room and text them to my sisters.
Carlo Ancelotti is a good coach and a good man. I worked with him for just three months at Parma, before I left for Chelsea, although I had worked with him before with the national team. In my first game for the national team I played with him.
If I give a student one-fourth of what he should know, I expect him to get the other three-fourths himself, otherwise I do not want him as a student.
Her smile faded. “Do you know the worst thing about it? I forgot him. Daemon was a friend, and I forgot him. That Winsol, before I was…he gave me a silver bracelet. I don’t know what happened to it. I had a picture of him. I don’t know what happened to that either. And then he gave everything he had to help me, and when it was done, everyone walked away from him as if he didn’t matter.
During the election, I had three male opponents and we went into a runoff. The front runner for the men was a native of Dallas who had run at large before, but I had a higher profile than him from my community service.
You like him because he's a lost boy. Believe me, I've seen it happen before. But do you know what happens to girls who love lost boys? They become lost themselves. Without fail.
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