This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him:
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do.
Men that make
Envy and crooked malice nourishment,
Dare bite the best.
Men at some time are masters of their fates:
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.
The foremost man of all this world.
His life was gentle, and the elements
So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up,
And say to all the world, This was a man!
God made him, and therefore let him pass for a man.
A proper man as one shall see in a summer's day.
Are you good men and true?
Why, he's a man of wax.
I wonder men dare trust themselves with men.
For men, like butterflies,
Show not their mealy wings but to the summer.
Every man is odd.
Nietzsche ... he was a confirmed Life Force worshipper. It was he who raked up the Superman, who is as old as Prometheus; and the 20th century will run after this newest of the old crazes when it gets tired of the world, the flesh, and your humble servant.
Man is of soul and body, formed for deeds
Of high resolve; on fancy's boldest wing.
Of the king's creation you may be; but he who makes a count, ne'er mnde a man.
Man's wretched state,
That floures so fresh at morne, and fades at evening late.
Give us a man of God's own mould
Born to marshall his fellow-men;
One whose fame is not bought and sold
At the stroke of a politician's pen.
Give us the man of thousands ten,
Fit to do as well as to plan;
Give us a rallying-cry, and then
Abraham Lincoln, give us a Man.
Titles of honour are like the impressions on coin—which add no value to gold and silver, but only render brass current.
A man's body and his mind, with the utmost reverence to both I speak it, are exactly like a jerkin and a jerkin's lining;—rumple the one,—you rumple the other.
When I beheld this I sighed, and said within myself, Surely man is a Broomstick!
Homo vitae commodatus, non donatus est.
Man has been lent, not given, to life.
Man is man, and master of his fate.
Ah God, for a man with heart, head, hand,
Like some of the simple great gone
Forever and ever by,
One still strong man in a blatant land,
Whatever they call him, what care I,
Aristocrat, democrat, autocrat—one
Who can rule and dare not lie.
I am a part of all that I have met.
Homo sum, humani nihil a me alienum puto.
I am a man, nothing that is human do I think unbecoming in me.
Der edle Mensch ist nur ein Bild von Gott.
The noble man is only God's image.
Quod, ut dictur, si est homo bulla, eo magis senex.
What, if as said, man is a bubble.
