A Quote by William Shakespeare

You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings and soar with them above a common bound. — © William Shakespeare
You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings and soar with them above a common bound.
The bird that would soar above the plain of tradition and prejudice must have strong wings.
The bird that would soar above the level plain of tradition and prejudice must have strong wings. It is a sad spectacle to see the weaklings bruised, exhausted, fluttering back to earth.
Stupid cupid you're a real mean guy, I'd like to pick your wings so you can't fly, I am in love and it's a crying shame, and I know that you're the one to blame, hey, hey set me free, stupid cupid, stop picking on me.
Every nation needs two wings to fly. Any bird torn at the wings will never soar the skies.
All those golden autumn days the sky was full of wings. Wings beating low over the blue water of Silver Lake, wings beating high in the blue air far above it . . . bearing them all away to the green fields in the South.
Above, far above the prejudices and passions of men soar the laws of nature. Eternal and immutable, they are the expression of the creative power they represent what is, what must be, what otherwise could not be. Man can come to understand the: he is incapable of changing them.
Why can't we simply borrow what is useful to us from Buddhism, Hinduism, Taoism, especially Zen, as we borrow from Christianity, science, American Indian traditions and world literature in general, including philosophy, and let the rest go hang? Borrow what we need but rely principally upon our own senses, common sense and daily living experience.
As the tragic writer rids us of what is petty and ignoble in our nature, so also the humorist rids us of what is cautious, calculating, and priggish--about half of our social conscience, indeed. Both of them permit us, in blessed moments of revelation, to soar above the common level of our lives.
Somebody's sent a funny little valentine to me. It's a bunch of baby-roses in a vase of filigree, And hovering above them ... is a fairy cupid tangled in a scarf of poetry.
God has given you a spirit with wings on which to soar into the spacious firmament of Love and Freedom. Is it not pitiful than that you cut your wings with your own hands and suffer your soul to crawl like an insect upon the earth?
Possibilities are like the wings of birds; they allow man to soar and to climb to the heavens. And facts are like the atmosphere against which those wings must beat, and without which the soaring bird will surely plummet back to earth.
It is significant that one says book lover and music lover and art lover but not record lover or CD lover or, conversely, text lover.
Words give wings to the mind and make a man soar to heaven.
It is a confession that we do not have such a prodigious head as is required to answer the question what is happening, that we cannot get on top of what is happening, that we are stuck in the middle of it, in medias res, inter-esse, amazing and bewildered. We cannot soar over what is happening with philosophy's eagle-wings. What's happening has clipped our wings.
Faith furnishes prayer with wings, without which it cannot soar to Heaven.
Set the bird's wings with gold and it will never again soar in thesky.
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