And that's why, you know, it's players like Randy Moss that unfortunately put a stain on the entire league.
And that's why, you know, it's players like Randy Moss that unfortunately put a stain on the entire league.
The growing tide of anti-Semitism shocks the conscious of everyone who values freedom, and the ugly, hateful acts particularly stain the character of democracies where liberty and religious freedom are supposed to be respected.
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.
Repentant tears wash out the stain of guilt.
That is my home of love; if I have ranged,
Like him that travels I return again,
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged,
So that myself bring water for my stain.
It is one of the severest tests of friendship to tell your friend his faults. So to love a man that you cannot bear to see a stain upon him, and to speak painful truth through loving words, that is friendship.
There is no man hath a virtue that he hath not a
glimpse of, nor any man an attaint but he carries some stain of
it; he is melancholy without cause and merry against the hair; he
hath the joints of every thing; but everything so out of joint
that he is a gouty Briareus, many hands and no use, or purblind
Argus, all eyes and no sight.
I did get to work with Anthony Hopkins on 'The Human Stain.' If I ever manage to accomplish a quarter of what he's achieved, I'll have had one hell of a career.
After Nixon resigned in 1974, he engaged in a very aggressive war with history, attempting to wipe out the Watergate stain and memory. Happily, history won, largely because of Nixon's tapes.
If the guilt of sin is so great that nothing can satisfy it but the blood of Jesus; and the filth of sin is so great that nothing can fetch out the stain thereof but the blood of Jesus, how great, how heinous, how sinful must the evil of sin be.
No speech can stain what is noble by nature.
A dog chained and forgotten behind the hedge,
a malachite flower with the nut-brown edge,
a wave of rain bouncing off the painted wall,
crumpling the waxen papyri with its waterfall,
spreading around, ringing and splashing again,
mixing up memories, washing off life like a stain.
My table is now brightly, now dimly lighted. Its temperature varies. It may receive an ink stain. One of its legs may be broken. It may be repaired, polished, and replaced part by part. But, for me, it remains the table at which I daily write.
But money, wife, is the true Fuller's Earth for reputations, there is not a spot or a stain but what it can take out.
Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.
The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue,
Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories