A Quote by William Penn

A vain man is a nauseous creature: he is so full of himself that he has no room for anything else, be it never so good or deserving. — © William Penn
A vain man is a nauseous creature: he is so full of himself that he has no room for anything else, be it never so good or deserving.
A vain man finds it wise to speak good or ill of himself; a modest man does not talk of himself.
Drawn by conceit from reason's plan How vain is that poor creature man; How pleas'd in ev'ry paltry elf To grate about that thing himself.
There would never be any room in her for anything else. No room for anything but the realization of what she had done.
That Man indeed can never be good at heart, who is full of himself and his own Endowments.
A vain man finds his account in speaking good or evil of himself.
I never knew a man who was good at making excuses who was good at anything else.
God's creature is one. He makes man, not men. His true creature is unitary and infinite, revealing himself, indeed, in every finite form, but compromised by none.
A vain man can never be utterly ruthless: he wants to win applause and therefore he accommodates himself to others
That man can destroy life is just as miraculous a feat as that he can create it, for life is the miracle, the inexplicable. In the act of destruction, man sets himself above life; he transcends himself as a creature. Thus, the ultimate choice for a man, inasmuch as he is driven to transcend himself, is to create or to destroy, to love or to hate.
I never knew a man who wished to be himself a slave. Consider if you know any good thing, that no man desires for himself.
Whether he sleeps or wakes,--whether he runs or walks,--whether he uses a microscope or a telescope, or his naked eye,--a man never discovers anything, never overtakes anything, or leaves anything behind, but himself. Whatever he says or does, he merely reports himself. If he is in love, he loves; if he is in heaven, he enjoys; if he is in hell, he suffers. It is his condition that determines his locality.
[Winston Churchill] never spares himself in conversation. He gives himself so generously that hardly anyone else is permitted to give anything in his presence.
Man is the creature that cannot emerge from himself, that knows his fellows only in himself; when he asserts the contrary, he is lying.
The real Tragedy is the tragedy of the man who never in his life braces himself for his one supreme effort-he never stretches to his full capacity, never stands up to his full stature.
...nothing on earth can stop man from feeling himself born for liberty. Never, whatever may happen, can he accept servitude; for he is a thinking creature.
I find that a real gardener is not a man who cultivates flowers; he is a man who cultivates the soil. He is a creature who digs himself into the earth and leaves the sight of what is on it to us gaping good-for-nothings. He lives buried in the ground. He builds his monument in a heap of compost. If he came into the Garden of Eden, he would sniff excitedly and say: "Good Lord, what humus!"
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