-
Next Quote
There rise her timeless capitals of empires daily born,Whose plinths are laid at midnight and whose streets are packed at morn;And here come tired youths and maids that feign to love or sinIn tones like rusty razor blades to tunes like smitten tin.
- Rudyard Kipling -
Previous Quote
For undemocratic reasons and for motives not of State, they arrive at their conclusions -- largely inarticulate. Being void of self-expression they confide their views to none; but sometimes in a smoking room, one learns why things were done.
- Rudyard Kipling -