Quotes about Deed

" Beautiful thoughts make beautiful lives, For every word and deed Lies in the thought that prompted it, As the flower lies in the seed. ! "

You are what your deep, driving desire is.
As your desire is, so is your will.
As your wil is, so is your deed.
As your deed is, so is your DESTINY.

It is only our deeds that reveal who we are.

We live in deeds, not years; In thoughts not breathsIn feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart throbs.

TAKING THE FIRST FOOTSTEP with a good thought, the second with a good word, and the third with a good deed, I entered paradise.

The Whites told only one side. Told it to please themselves. Told much that is not true. Only his own best deeds, only the worst deeds of the Indians, has the white man told.

Son of man, keep not silent, forget not deeds of tyranny. Cry out at the disaster of a people, recount it unto your children and they unto theirs. From generation to generation the hordes swept in, ran wild and savage and there was no deliverance, valiance, and revolt. How the mighty are fallen, the great in spirit and stout of heart, walking to their death with a halo of eternity. (reference to the Holocaust)

As thou these ashes, little brook, wilt bear Into the Avon, Avon to the tide Of Severn, Severn to the narrow seas, Into main ocean they, this deed accursed An emblem yields to friends and enemies How the bold teacher's doctrine, sanctified By truth, shall spread, throughout the world dispersed.

I 've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning; Alas! the gratitude of men Hath oftener left me mourning.

For Sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds Make deeds ill done!

It is a kind of good deed to say well; and yet words are not deeds.

'Tis well said again; And 'tis a kind of good deed to say well: And yet words are no deeds.

They that have power to hurt and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do show, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow; They rightly do inherit Heaven's graces, And husband nature's riches from expense; They are the lords and owners of their faces, Others but stewards of their excellence. The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, Though to itself it only live and die; But if that flower with base infection meet, The basest weed outbraves his dignity: For Sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds: Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

One good deed dying tongueless Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages.

How often the sight of means to do ill deeds, makes deeds ill done.

Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They that have done this deed are honourable: What private griefs they have, alas! I know not, That made them do it; they are wise and honourable, And will no doubts with reason answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts: I am no orator, as Brutus is; But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, That love my friend; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him: For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor power of speech, To stir men's blood; I only speak right on; I tell you that which you yourselves do know; Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me: but were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.

The quality of mercy is not strain'd, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless'd; It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown; His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above the sceptred sway, It is enthroned in the heart of kings, It is an attribute to God himself, And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice. Therefore Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this, That in the course of justice none of us Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy, And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy.

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle: I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, That day he overcame the Nervii: Look, in this place ran Cassius' dagger through: See what a rent the envious Casca made: Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd; And as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it, As rushing out of doors, to be resolved If Brutus so unkindly knock'd, or no; For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel: Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him! This was the most unkindest cut of all; For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, Quite vanquish'd him: then burst his mighty heart; And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's Statua, Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell, O! what a fall was there, my countrymen; Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. O! now you weep, and I perceive you feel The dint of pity; these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what, weep you when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here, Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, with traitors. . . . . Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They that have done this deed are honourable: What private griefs they have, alas! I know not, That made them do it; they are wise and honourable, And will no doubts with reason answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts: I am no orator, as Brutus is; But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, That love my friend. . . . . For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action , nor utterance, nor power of speech, To stir men's blood; I only speak right on; I tell you that which you yourselves do know.

That light we see is burning in my hall. How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

Love is Enough Love is enough: though the world be a-waning, And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining, Though the skies be too dark for dim eyes to discover The gold-cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder, Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark wonder, And this day draw a veil over all deeds passed over, Yet their hands shall not tremble, their feet shall not falter: The void shall not weary, the fear shall not alter These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover.

For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds,  And though late, a sure reward succeeds.

When in this world a man comes forward with a thought, a deed, a vision, we ask not how does he look, but what is his message?. . . The world still wants to ask that a woman primarily be pretty. . . .

The leader of the deed was a woman. -Dux femina facti

We can discover this meaning in life in three different ways: (1) by doing a deed; (2) by experiencing a value; and (3) by suffering.

Someone of words and not of deeds is like a garden full of weeds.

Words lead to deeds. . . . They prepare the soul, make it ready, and move it to tenderness.

Some confuse motion with action, words with deeds, promises with deliveries, excuses with results.

RESPONSIBILITY Can you put the spider's web in its place, that once has been swept away? Can you put the apple again on the bough, which fell at our feet today? Can you put the lily-cup back on the stem, and cause it to live and grow? Can you mend the butterfly's broken wing, that you crushed with a hasty blow? Can you put the bloom again on the grape, or the grape again on the vine? Can You put the dewdrops back on the flower, and make them sparkle and shine? Can you put the petals back on the rose? If you could, would it smell as sweet? Can you put the flour again in the husk, and show me the ripened wheat? Can you put the kernel back in the nut or the broken egg in its shell? Can you put the honey back in the comb, and cover with wax each cell? Can you put the perfume back in the vase, when once it has sped away? Can you put the corn-silk back on the corn, or the down on the catkins-say? You think that my questions are trifling, well, let me ask you another one: Can a hasty word ever be unsaid, or a deed unkind undone? -Anon.

Many prayers remain unanswered, pending endorsement of our deeds.