Limping Quotes

“You are good when you walk to your goal firmly and with bold steps.Yet you are not evil when you go thither limping.For those who limp go not backwards.But you who are strong and swift, see that you do not limp before the lame, deeming it kindness.”

“You are good when you walk to your goal firmly and with bold steps.Yet you are not evil when you go thither limping.For those who limp go not backwards.But you who are strong and swift, see that you do not limp before the lame, deeming it kindness.”

“Yesterday he had limped, but today there was no part of his feet that didn't hurt, so limping did no good.”

“The truth may roar, but it's roaring does not terrify the blameless. Guilty conscience needs neither a critic nor an accuser. Remember, the truth has no aiding crutches; once it is limping, its name is "a lie'.”

“What do you know of poetry?” Ambrose said without bothering to turn around. “I know a limping verse when I hear it,” I said. “But this isn’t even limping. A limp has rhythm. This is more like someone falling down a set of stairs. Uneven stairs. With a midden at the bottom.” “It is a sprung rhythm,” he said, his voice stiff and offended. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” “Sprung?” I burst out with an incredulous laugh. “I understand that if I saw a horse with a leg this badly ‘sprung,’ I’d kill it out of mercy, then burn its poor corpse for fear the local dogs might gnaw on it and die.”

“Truth always lags last limping along on the arm of Time.”

“When has life listened to anyone?It goes on at its own pace...Limping, when we wish it should run,And when calm desired, sprinting as in a race…”

“Human history is one prolonged and painful limping. We invariably step with one foot on the rock of justice, and with the other, we sink into the mire of deceit and self-delusion.”

“Nothing is as tedious as the limping days,When snowdrifts yearly cover all the ways,And ennui, sour fruit of incurious gloom,Assumes control of fate’s immortal loom”

“Even Asmodeus, that limping devil who looked through rooftops at men's most secret actions, could not have told which of these thoughts masked an undercurrent of joy -- the joy of the man who know that he has killed wisely and well.”

“However life, unlike art, has an irritating way of bumping and limping on, undoing conversions, casting doubt on solutions, and generally illustrating the impossibility of living happily or virtuously ever after.”