It will be an ill day when our brethren take to bragging and boasting and call it 'testimony to the victorious Christian life.' We trust that holiness will be more than ever the aim of believers, but not the boastful holiness which has deluded some of the excellent of the earth into vain glory, and under which their firmest friends shudder for them.
LoVe Is ALwayS PaTiEnT AND KinD..It iS NevEr JeAlouS..LoVe Is neVer BoastFul Nor ConceDed..It iS NeveR Rude Or SelFisH..It dOeS Not TaKE OffeNcE anD It iS not ReseNtful..LovE TakeS No plEaSure in other PeoplE's sense But DelightS in The trUth..It iS alWays ReaDy to ExcuSe to TRUST to HOPE and to ENDURE whatever comes....
Nishi De Silva
It was during the eighteenth century - a period of boastful satisfaction with the nice balances within the English constitution - that Englishmen came to accept the Whig view of the utility of an armed citizenry. The armed citizen was not only affirmed to be protecting himself but, together with his fellows, provided the ultimate check on tyranny.
Joyce Lee Malcolm
Worship Allah and associate nothing with Him, and to parents do good, and to relatives, orphans, the needy, the near neighbor, the neighbor farther away, the companion at your side, the traveler, and those whom your right hands possess (slaves). Indeed, Allah does not like those who are proud and boastful. [Al-Qur'an Surah Nisa 4:36]
Love is always patient and kind; it is never jealous, love is never boastful or conceited; it is never rude or selfish; it does not take offense, and is not resentful. Love takes no pleasure in other people's sins but delights in the truth; it is always ready to excuse, to trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes. Love does not come to an end.
Horace, in a particularly boastful mood, once said his verse would last as long as the vestal virgins kept going up the Capitoline Hill to worship at the temple of Jupiter. But Horace's poetry has lasted longer than Jupiter's religion, and Jupiter himself has only survived because he disappeared into literature.
What then, is correctness of speech but the maintenance of the practice of others, as established by the authority of ancient speakers? But the weaker men are, the more they are troubled by such matters. Their weakness stems from a desire to appear learned, not with a knowledge of things, by which we are edified, but with a knowledge of signs, by which it is difficult not to be puffed up in some way; even a knowledge of things often makes people boastful, unless their necks are held down by the Lord's yoke.
Love is patient; love is kindand envies no one.Love is never boastful, nor conceited, nor rude;never selfish, not quick to take offense.There is nothing love cannot face;there is no limit to its faith,its hope, and endurance.In a word, there are three thingsthat last forever: faith, hope, and love;but the greatest of them all is love.
I don't expect Christians to see God as a metaphor, but that's what he is. Perhaps it might be clearer to call him a character in fiction, and a very interesting one too: one of the greatest and most complex villains of all - savage, petty, boastful and jealous, and yet capable of moments of tenderness and extremes of arbitrary affection - for David, for example. But he's not real, any more than Hamlet or Mr Pickwick are real. They are real in the context of their stories, but you won't find them in the phone book.
Ah Buddha, you boastful charlatan. You may have learned nothing after 6 years of suffering, but then what of 7 years? What of 17? What might you have learned from a lifetime of pain? [... ] From what I can tell, the wisest man in all these scriptures was the first person Buddha ever tried to teach - an Ajivika named Upaka. Buddha bragged to him of how he achieved nirvana, to which Upaka simply replied: "That may be so, " and walked away.
Love is patient; love is kind and envies no one. Love is never boastful, nor conceited, nor rude; never selfish, not quick to take offense. Love keeps no score of wrongs; does not gloat over other men's sins, but delights in the truth. There is nothing love cannot face; there is no limit to its faith, its hope, and endurance. [... ] In a word, there are three things that last forever: faith, hope, and love; but the greatest of them all is love.
Gluttony should be destroyed by self-control; unchastity by desire for God and longing for the blessings held in store; avarice by compassion for the poor; anger by goodwill and love for all men; worldly dejection by spiritual joy; listlessness by patience, perseverance and offering thanks to God; self-esteem by doing good in secret and by praying constantly with a contrite heart; and pride by not judging or despising anyone in the manner of the boastful Pharisee (cf. Lk. 18:11-12), and by considering oneself the least of all men.
John of Damascus
We live in a world of self-deprecation, and while it's healthy to make fun of ourselves from time to time, it bothers me when I see women of all ages belittling their accomplishments because they don't want to appear boastful or overconfident. You don't see a lot of guys out there underplaying their strengths or making light of what they're good at, so why should women? While I get that there's a fine line between owning your accomplishments and reciting every line of your resume, there is absolutely no shame in being proud of what you've managed to achieve! Own it!
From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,The hum of either army stilly sounds,That the fixed sentinels almost receiveThe secret whispers of each other's watch.Fire answers fire, and through their play flamesEach battle sees the other's umbered face.Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighsPiercing the night's dull ear; and from the tentsThe armorers accomplishing the knights,With busy hammers closing rivets up,Give dreadful note of preparation.
It is often attempted to palliate slavery by comparing the state of slaves with our poorer countrymen: if the misery of our poor be caused not by the laws of nature, but by our institutions, great is our sin; but how this bears on slavery, I cannot see; as well might the use of the thumb-screw be defended in one land, by showing that men in another land suffered from some dreadful disease. Those who look tenderly at the slave owner, and with a cold heart at the slave, never seem to put themselves into the position of the latter; what a cheerless prospect, with not even a hope of change! picture to yourself the chance, ever hanging over you, of your wife and your little children - those objects which nature urges even the slave to call his own - being torn from you and sold like beasts to the first bidder! And these deeds are done and palliated by men, who profess to love their neighbours as themselves, who believe in God, and pray that his Will be done on earth! It makes one's blood boil, yet heart tremble, to think that we Englishmen and our American descendants, with their boastful cry of liberty, have been and are so guilty...
I'VE SEEN A LOT OF SHIT DISAPPEAR AND REAPPEAR I'M 34 ON EARTH BUT MEASURE ME IN VENUS YEARS I'M SO RIGHT BRAINED I CAN'T GROW AN EVEN BEARD I WONDER IF I BALANCE SHIT OUT, WOULD THINGS SEEM AS WEIRD THEY SAY IT IS ABOVE AS IT IS BELOW MY SKIN IS SO HOT BUT MY HEART BEAT IS 10 BELOW IN THE COLD BARRACKS DAYDREAMING ABOUT A CENTERFOLD I ANSWER ONLY QUESTIONS IT'S EASIEST TO PRETEND TO KNOW IT'S HARD BEING BRICK AND MORTAR CREATURES MY THOUGHTS HAVE TO FIT IN PHONES AND THROUGH COMPUTER SPEAKERS I WAS PRETTY GEEKED ABOUT MY LA WEEKLY FEATURE I SHOWED IT TO MY DAD, MY BARBER AND MY PIANO TEACHER I'M TRYINA GET DISCOVERED LIKE A THE COOKIE FACED KING HE CAN'T REMEMBER WHERE PRECEPTORS AT EYES MAD LOW, GRIN WIDE, JUST LIKE A CHESHIRE CAT GOT FOUR DIMENSIONAL SKIN MY CHIN IS A TESSERACT I'M TRYINA TOUR FOR 3 WEEKS IN A MOBILE HOME THIS GETS MILK, A PEACH AND SOME PROVOLONE TALK TO MYSELF LOUD AND SPEAK IN A BOASTFUL TONE MY INNER MONOLOGUE IS CALM, SPEECH FROM THE GOLDEN GLOBES SOME FOLKS LEAVE RAP AND NEVER LOOK BACK IF YOU TRIED IT YOURSELF, YOU WOULD HAVE UNDERSTOOD THAT MAKE FILMS, PLAY BALL RIGHT OR EVEN COOK CRACK MY FAMOUS HOMIES PICKED THE RIGHT SHIT TO GET GOOD AT, YEAH
Open Mike Eagle
When one takes into account also His reiterated assertions about His Divinity - such as asking us to love Him above parents, to believe in Him even in the face of persecution, to be ready to sacrifice our bodies in order to save our souls in union with Him - to call Him just a good man ignores the facts. No man is good unless he is humble; and humility is a recognition of truth concerning oneself. A man who thinks he is greater than he actually is is not humble, but a vain and boastful fool. How can any man claim prerogatives over conscience, and over history, and over society and the world and still claim he is 'meek and humble of heart'? But if He is God as well as man, His language falls into place and everything that He says is intelligible. But if He is not what He claimed to be, then some of His most precious sayings are nothing but bombastic outburts of self-adulation that breathe rather the spirit of Lucifer than the spirit of a good man. What avails Him to proclam the law of self-renouncement, if He Himself renounces truth to call Himself God? Even His sacrifice on the Cross becomes a suspect and dated thing, when it goes hand in hand with delusions of grandeur and infernal conceit. He could not be called even a sincere teacher, for no sincere teacher would allow anyone to construe his claims to share the rank and the name of the Great God in heaven.
Fulton J. Sheen
There is a degree of emotional impact in the nature poetry of the eighteenth century which marks a shift in sensibility towards what came to be called 'the sublime'. The concept, from classical Greek, came to England through the French of Boileau, and reached its definitive explication in Edmund Burke's Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and the Beautiful (1757-59). This is a key text of the times, displaying an emphasis on feelings and on imagination, which is almost the antithesis of the neoclassical insistence on form and reason. Burke's idea of the sublime goes beyond natural beauty (although the beauty of nature is very much a part of it) and goes into the realms of awe, or 'terror'. The sublime is, for Burke, 'productive of the strongest emotion which the mind is capable of feeling'. Terror, emotion, feeling: all these represent a break from the intellectual rigours of the Augustan age, and are in one sense a reaction against the new pressures of society and bourgeois concerns... The link between the sublime and terror is most clearly seen in the imaginative exaggeration of the Gothic novel - a form which concentrated on the fantastic, the macabre and the supernatural, with haunted castles, spectres from the grave and wild landscapes. It is significant that the term 'Gothic' originally had mediaeval connotations: this is the first of several ways of returning to pre-Renaissance themes and values which is to be found over the next hundred years or so. The novels of the 1760s to the 1790s, however, gave the term 'Gothic' the generic meaning of horror fantasy. The Castle of Otranto (1764) by Horace Walpole (son of the prime minister Sir Robert Walpole) was the first of this kind, and the sub-genre has flourished ever since... .. Like many texts of its times, Walpole's novel purported to be a translation of an ancient manuscript dating from the eleventh or twelfth century. There was a strange fashion for these mediaeval rediscoveries, Thomas Chatterton and James Macpherson (Ossian) being notable contributors to the trend. Whether this was a deliberate avoidance of boastful originality or an attempt to give the works involved some spurious historical validity is not clear. Peter Ackroyd's novel Chatterton (1987) examines the phenomenon.
Know that... there's plenty of food and of course popcorn on the dining-room table. Just... help yourself. If that runs out just let me know. Don't panic. And there's coffee, both caff and decaf, and soft drinks and juice in the kitchen, and plenty of ice in the freezer so... let me know if you have any questions with that.' And lastly, since I have you all here in one place, I have something to share with you. Along the garden ways just now... I too heard the flowers speak. They told me that our family garden has all but turned to sand. I want you to know I've watered and nurtured this square of earth for nearly twenty years, and waited on my knees each spring for these gentle bulbs to rise, reborn. But want does not bring such breath to life. Only love does. The plain, old-fashioned kind. In our family garden my husband is of the genus Narcissus , which includes daffodils and jonquils and a host of other ornamental flowers. There is, in such a genus of man, a pervasive and well-known pattern of grandiosity and egocentrism that feeds off this very kind of evening, this type of glitzy generosity. People of this ilk are very exciting to be around. I have never met anyone with as many friends as my husband. He made two last night at Carvel. I'm not kidding. Where are you two? Hi. Hi, again. Welcome. My husband is a good man, isn't he? He is. But in keeping with his genus, he is also absurdly preoccupied with his own importance, and in staying loyal to this, he can be boastful and unkind and condescending and has an insatiable hunger to be seen as infallible. Underlying all of the constant campaigning needed to uphold this position is a profound vulnerability that lies at the very core of his psyche. Such is the narcissist who must mask his fears of inadequacy by ensuring that he is perceived to be a unique and brilliant stone. In his offspring he finds the grave limits he cannot admit in himself. And he will stop at nothing to make certain that his child continually tries to correct these flaws. In actuality, the child may be exceedingly intelligent, but has so fully developed feelings of ineptitude that he is incapable of believing in his own possibilities. The child's innate sense of self is in great jeopardy when this level of false labeling is accepted. In the end the narcissist must compensate for this core vulnerability he carries and as a result an overestimation of his own importance arises. So it feeds itself, cyclically. And, when in the course of life they realize that their views are not shared or thier expectations are not met, the most common reaction is to become enraged. The rage covers the fear associated with the vulnerable self, but it is nearly impossible for others to see this, and as a result, the very recognition they so crave is most often out of reach. It's been eighteen years that I've lived in service to this mindset. And it's been devastating for me to realize that my efforts to rise to these standards and demands and preposterous requests for perfection have ultimately done nothing but disappoint my husband. Put a person like this with four developing children and you're gonna need more than love poems and ice sculpture to stay afloat. Trust me. So. So, we're done here.