A Quote by Walter Scott
In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying.
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A little neglect may breed great mischief. ... For want of a nail, the shoe was lost; for want of a shoe, the horse was lost; for want of a horse, the battle was lost; for want of the battle, the war was lost.
The U.S. never lost a battle against North Vietnam, but it lost the war.
France has lost the battle but she has not lost the war.
I'm more afraid of falling than I am of flying high. I'm not as scared of dying as I am of growing old. Every battle has its glory and its consequence.
In the meantime the groans changed into the protracted, thunderous roar by which all living creatures are struck with terror, and the nerves of people, who do not know what fear is, shake, just as the window-panes rattle from distant cannonading.
To me, flying free is doing what I want to do, even if it's different from what everybody expects me to do. I'm flying free when I win the battle between me and the people who thought I should go down this road and I find my own road.
How alike are the groans of love to those of the dying.
Lester is the Rock of Gibraltar. Nothing can rattle him. I am not. I was always flying off the handle about things. And the one person who could calm me down and make me realize that none of this silliness mattered was Lester Holt.
A moment comes in war when the last line must be crossed. The line that separates what you hold dear from what total war demands. If he couldn't cross that line, the battle was over, and he was lost. His heart, the war. Her face, the battlefield. With a cry only he could hear, the hunter turned. And ran.
In the dark of the moon, in flying snow, in the dead of winter, war spreading, families dying, the world in danger, I walk the rocky hillside, sowing clover.
The battle for evolution seems never-ending. And the battle is part of a wider war, a war between rationality and superstition.
What is a country? A country is a piece of land surrounded on all sides by boundaries, usually unnatural. Englishmen are dying for England, Americans are dying for America, Germans are dying for Germany, Russians are dying for Russia. There are now fifty or sixty countries fighting in this war. Surely so many countries can't all be worth dying for.
Every battle, every war - is fought for things worth dying for.
Rumor, once started, rushes on like a river, until it mingles with, and is lost in the sea.
On 'Death Valley,' I fought this werewolf, and he was picking me up and slamming me down. They put padding down in the garbage so he could really slam me down. They're flying around and I'm doing these jumping flying triangles pulling the guy down. It's just fun.
On Death Valley, I fought this werewolf, and he was picking me up and slamming me down. They put padding down in the garbage so he could really slam me down. They're flying around and I'm doing these jumping flying triangles pulling the guy down. It's just fun.
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