A new idea is delicate. It can be killed by a sneer or a yawn; it can be stabbed to death by a quip and worried to death by a frown on the right man's brow.
A new idea is delicate. It can be killed by a sneer or a yawn; it can be stabbed to death by a quip and worried to death by a frown on the right man's brow.
He is not dead who departs from life with a high and noble fame; but he is dead, even while living, whose brow is branded with infamy.
This tragic brow, these closed eyes, eyebrows raised and knotted.
Go, forget me - why should sorrow, O'er that brow a shadow fling? Go, forget me - and tomorrow, brightly smile and sweetly sing. Smile - though I shall not be near thee; Sing - though I shall never hear thee.
What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now.
Beautiful isle of the sea, Smile on the brow of the waters.
With her high pale brow under her faded brown hair, she was like a rock washed clean by years of her husband's absences at conventions, dinners, committee meetings or simply at the office.
I look around me and nowhere do I see a stamp of disapproval with which nature marked a woman's candid brow.
Swift speedy time, feathered with flying hours, Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow.
I've never been able to feel that there is anything undignified about making your living by the sweat of your brow.
Lord, confound this surly sister, blight her brow with blotch and blister, cramp her larynx, lung and liver, in her guts a galling give her.
Know, thou, that the lines that live are turned out of a furrowed brow.
In the decline of the day, near Kentucky river, as we ascended the brow of a small hill, a number of Indians rushed out of a thick cane-brake upon us, and made us prisoners.
Hope is the word which God has written on the brow of every man.
I suspect that American workers have come to lack a work ethic. They do not live by the sweat of their brow.
Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive, half wishing they were dead to save the shame. The sudden blush devours them, neck and brow; They have drawn too near the fire of life, like gnats, and flare up bodily, wings and all. What then? Who's sorry for a gnat or girl?
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories