Patience, the beggar's virtue, shall find no harbor here.
Patience, the beggar's virtue, shall find no harbor here.
Beggars. . . should be entirely abolished Truly, it is annoying to give to them and annoying not to give to them.
My goal is the mystery the beggars win.
The American character looks always as if it had just had a rather bad haircut, which gives it, in our eyes at any rate, a greater humanity than the European, which even among its beggars has an all too professional air.
A court is an assembly of noble and distinguished beggars.
I just want to be nominated; beggars can't be choosers.
All true language is incomprehensible, like the chatter of a beggar's teeth.
All strangers and beggars are from God, And a gift, though small, is precious.
Writers, you know, are the beggars of Western society.
Furthermore, they were constantly informed by all the camp authorities that they had been abandoned by the world: they were beggars and lucky to receive the daily soup of starvation.
Beggars should be no choosers.
And love is love in beggars and in kings.
John, to stop Arthur's tide in the whole,
Hath willingly departed with a part;
And France, whose armour conscience buckled on,
Whom zeal and charity brought to the field
As God's own soldier, rounded in the ear
With that same purpose-changer, that sly devil,
That broker that still breaks the pate of faith,
That daily break-vow, he that wins of all,
Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids,
Who having no external thing to lose
But the word 'maid,' cheats the poor maid of that;
That smooth-fac'd gentleman, tickling commodity,
Commodity, the bias of the world-
The world, who of itself is peised well,
Made to run even upon even ground,
Till this advantage, this vile-drawing bias,
This sway of motion, this commodity,
Makes it take head from all indifferency,
From all direction, purpose, course, intent-
And this same bias, this commodity,
This bawd, this broker, this all-changing word,
Clapp'd on the outward eye of fickle France,
Hath drawn him from his own determin'd aid,
From a resolv'd and honourable war,
To a most base and vile-concluded peace.
The question I asked Georges has now become a general one - You, who thought you were superfluous, who thought there was no place for you in society, not only are you not superfluous, you are needed and so those who were beggars become givers.
He went, ever on the move, with the slow, shuffling step of wandering beggars who are nowhere at home.
If beggars do not hate the rest of us, they are even more abject than I had imagined.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories