50 Cycle Quotes

Money is always there but the pockets change; it is not in the same pockets after a change, and that is all there is to say about money.

My success and my misfortunes, the bright and the dark days I have gone through, everything has proved to me that in this world, either physical or moral, good comes out of evil just as well as evil comes out of good.

We Germans carried our hatred from the First World War to the Second World War, and now you are about to carry the hatred about the murder of 5 million people on to another World War.

I found you a thousand times; I guess you done the same; But then we lose each other; It's like a children's game; As I find you here again; A thought runs through my mind; Our love is like a circle; Let's go 'round one more time.

Nature is ever at work building and pulling down, creating and destroying, keeping everything whirling and flowing, allowing no rest but in rhythmical motion, chasing everything in endless song out of one beautiful form into another.

Thus times do shift, each thing his turn does hold; New things succeed, as former things grow old.

'One thing leads to another'? Not always. Sometimes one thing leads to the same thing. Ask an addict.

Death belongs to life as birth does. The walk is in the raising of the foot as in the laying of it down.

War begets quiet, quiet idleness, idleness disorder, disorder ruin; likewise ruin order, order virtue, virtue glory and good fortune.

Violence breeds violence. Acts of violence committed in 'justice' or in affirmation of 'rights' or in defense of 'peace' do not end violence. They prepare and justify its continuation.

One is constantly reminded of the infinite lavishness and fertility of Nature- inexhaustible abundance amid what seems enormous waste. And yet when we look into any of her operations that lie within reach of our minds, we learn that no particle of her material is wasted or worn out. It is eternally flowing from use to use, beauty to yet higher beauty; and we soon cease to lament waste and death, and rather rejoice and exult in the imperishable, unspendable wealth of the universe, and faithfully watch and wait the reappearance of everything that melts and fades and dies about us, feeling sure that its next appearance will be better and more beautiful than the last.

Life is the beginning of death. Life is for the sake of death. Death is at once the end and the beginning - at once separation and closer union of the self. Through death the reduction is complete.

I sadly smiling remember that the flower fades to make fruit, the fruit rots to make earth.

But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home.

The program for this evening is not new. You have seen This entertainment through and through. You've seen your birth, your life and death; you might recall all of the rest - (did you have a good world when you died?) - enough to base a movie on?

So manifold, all pleasing in their kind, All healthful, are the employs of rural life, Reiterated as the wheel of time, Runs round; still ending, and beginning still.

Kekule dreams the Great Serpent holding its own tail in its mouth, the dreaming Serpent which surrounds the World. But the meanness, the cynicism with which this dream is to be used. The Serpent that announces, 'The World is a closed thing, cyclical, resonant, eternally-returning,' is to be delivered into a system whose only aim is to violate the Cycle. Taking and not giving back, demanding that 'productivity' and 'earnings' keep on increasing with time, the System removing from the rest of the World these vast quantities of energy to keep its own tiny desperate fraction showing a profit: and not only most of humanity - most of the World, animal, vegetable, and mineral, is laid waste in the process. The System may or may not understand that it's only buying time. And that time is an artificial resource to being with, of no value to anyone or anything but the System, which must sooner or later crash to its death, when its addiction to energy has become more than the rest of the World can supply, dragging with it innocent souls all along the chain of life.

Death: 'Death is the great hope of all life; the desire to expend itself; to be used and consumed by its own longing for itself.'

Nythod ddwyn, cyd nithud ddail, Ni'th dditia neb, ni'th etail, Na llu rhugl, na llaw rhaglaw, Na llafn glas na llif na glaw.

Time and again i tell myself I'll stay clean tonight But the little green wheels keep following me ! (Oh no, not again!) I'm stuck with a valuable friend I'm happy , hope you're happy too!

The maple tree that night Without a wind or rain Let go its leaves Because its time had come.

Rolling the ball, rolling the ball, rolling the ball to me...

From every joy and pain a hope leaps out eternally to escape this pain and to widen joy. And again the ascent begins - which is pain - and joy is reborn and new hope springs up once more. The circle never closes. It is not a circle, but a spiral which ascends eternally, ever widening, enfolding and unfolding the triune struggle.

Crocodiles sweetly shut their lidded eyes, and yawned, for the blond meat had been quite good, and in slow rains new flesh would sprout once more and then be munched anew.

On the ice flow they grip, cut, twist, break open seeds throwing out the white salt, revive volcanic dreams: unable to satisfy their diminuated lust the allegoric flesh learns the thrill of return.

Torture gives false information. And the worst scenarios that tortured detainees coughed up - many of them completely innocent, remember - may well have come to fuel US national security policy. And of course they also fueled more torture. Because once you hear of the existential plots confessed by one tortured prisoner, you need to torture more prisoners to get at the real truth. We do not know what actual intelligence they were getting, and Cheney has ensured that we will never know. But it is perfectly conceivable that the torture regime - combined with panic and paranoia - created an imaginationland of untruth and half-truth that has guided US policy for this entire war. It may well have led to the president being informed of any number of plots that never existed, and any number of threats that are pure imagination. And once torture has entered the system, you can never find out the real truth. You are lost in a vortex of lies and fears. In this vortex, the actual threats that we face may well be overlooked or ignored, as we chase false leads and pursue non-existent WMDs.

To each and every living thing The call of life will enthrall, From the mysteries, up we spring, Then to them back we fall

But some things will never change/try to show another way but you stayin' in the dope game

Tired of being trapped in this vicious cycle/If one more cop harrasses me I just might go psycho

T.H.U.G.L.I.F.E stands for The Hate U Give Lil Infants Fucks Everybody

There never was night that had no morn.

The sons of torture victims make good terrorists.

A tedium that includes only the anticipation of more tedium; the regret, now, of tomorrow regretting having regretted today.

As long as you hate, there will be people to hate.

But death blinds you, unaware of man's fall - An autumn that steals the flower from the flower peddler. Death is testimony of god's love and mercy for man - A promise made between autumn and spring.

But the great moment was over - here in Orizaba it was like Galilee between the Crucifixion and the Resurrection - all the enthusiasm had been spent.

Ma fin est mon commencement Et mon commencement ma fin.

As you look at Wendy, you may see her hair becoming white, and her figure little again, for all this happened long ago. Jane is now a common grown-up, with a daughter called Margaret; and every spring cleaning time, except when he forgets, Peter comes for Margaret and takes her to the Neverland, where she tells him stories about himself, to which he listens eagerly. When Margaret grows up she will have a daughter, who is to be Peter's mother in turn; and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless.

Yesternight the sun went hence, And yet is here today.

The labor of keeping house is labor in its most naked state, for labor is toil that never finishes, toil that has to be begun again the moment it is completed, toil that is destroyed and consumed by the life process.

In the great philosophy of Brahma, such violent turns of the scale are quite unknown. It embraces vast stretches of time, cycles of human ages, whose successive lives gravitate in concentric circles, and travel ever slowly towards the center....

After wars peace, after peace, another war. Every day men are born and others die.