Quotessence
Home / Quotes / S Quotes

S Quotes

Browse famous quotes beginning with S. This page is a child index of the full Popular Quotes A-Z directory.

All S Quotes

“Son, never trust a man who doesn’t drink because he’s probably a self-righteous sort, a man who thinks he knows right from wrong all the time. Some of them are good men, but in the name of goodness, they cause most of the suffering in the world. They’re the judges, the meddlers. And, son, never trust a man who drinks but refuses to get drunk. They’re usually afraid of something deep down inside, either that they’re a coward or a fool or mean and violent. You can’t trust a man who’s afraid of himself. But sometimes, son, you can trust a man who occasionally kneels before a toilet. The chances are that he is learning something about humility and his natural human foolishness, about how to survive himself. It’s damned hard for a man to take himself too seriously when he’s heaving his guts into a dirty toilet bowl.”

“Son of Jaws: Final Flush by Stewart Stafford The toilet monster is dead, He’d been looking flushed, A plunger sucked its face off, I don’t miss it, I’m not pushed. The innocent never had a clue, Sat on the porcelain throne seat, They'd kissed their backsides goodbye, Derrières on rows of razor teeth. A call of nature, but none returned, After closing the bathroom locks, Shoes and knickers found later, Twisted around frantic socks. The awful beast left the building, No critiques of the notorious dead, But words can't describe the relief, When I sit down now to use the head. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

“Son, Refrain from engaging with those who cannot stand your success. They will do their utmost to block your progress. When they see you being elevated, they will come up with issues to ensure your name is forgotten. Surround yourself with people who yearn to see you at the table of greatness, they will help you get there.”

“Son seres que dejan pocas huellas tras de sí. Personas casi anónimas. Nunca se alejan de ciertas calles de París, de ciertos paisajes de suburbio donde descubrí, por casualidad que habían vivido. Lo que se sabe de ellas se resume en una simple dirección. Y esta precisión topográfica contrasta con todo lo que se igonrará para siempre de su vida... ese vacío, ese bloque de desconocimiento y silencio.”

“Son tantas cosas las que le han dicho de las relaciones a su edad que es normal que, de vez en cuando, surjan las dudas. Nadie cree en los amores adolescentes ni en su longevidad. Ella tampoco lo hacía hasta que apareció él y, desde entonces, incluso el infinito le parece un intervalo de tiempo demasiado corto. Sus sentimientos van mas allá de quererle o de necesitarle. Aquel joven, sencillamente, es su vida.”

“Son, there’s nothing right about war. Nothing good ever comes of it. And I’m no hero. Anyone who rallies for war, for so many guns in men’s hands, has never stood shivering in his boots in the middle of a battlefield. And anyone who fights simply to be a man ain’t a man. He doesn’t have enough compassion.” I start to understand then. Maybe it’s war that makes Grandpa look sad sometimes. Maybe it’s the thought that it can happen at any moment or the thought that there will always be war that makes him appear melancholy, like on those afternoons he sits stone-faced in his recliner while Hank Williams’ lonesome voice fills the house, singing of the blue whippoorwill and the weeping robin. Maybe Grandpa wants me to realize that being a soldier doesn’t make someone a hero or a man, but having compassion does.”

“Son, There will be those who cannot stand the fact that you are blessed. They will look for ways to block your success. Even when you achieve success, they will still attempt to stop you as fast as they can. Such people should inspire you to become your best self.”

“Son todas líneas”, pensó y comenzó a ver a cada una de esas personas como una raya trazada sobre un hipotético mapa. Un gigantesco enredo de calles que se cruzaban, se rozaba, se unían y luego proseguían adelante. Allí afuera, en los caminos del mundo, había miles de millones de líneas, de recorridos de vida. Miles de millones de direcciones. Calles enfiladas, desviadas por azar, a veces interrumpidas bruscamente. Pensó que dos enamorados no eran más que dos recorridos a merced del azar. Podían dibujar los trayectos más absurdos en el mapamundi, dirigirse a cualquier parte y no encontrarse jamás. O bien cruzarse también varias veces y no reconocerse. Podían tomar el mismo autobús todas las mañanas, sin saber nada el uno del otro. Así hasta el fin de sus días, sin relacionarse. Pero bastaba muy poco: un intercambio de frases, incluso casual, y las líneas se abrían mágicamente unido. Dos grises trazos de un solitario recorrido se habrían convertido en una sola calle compartida.”