Qoutes: excuses

Alexander Pope
An excuse is worse than a lie, for an excuse is a lie, guarded.

Thomas Fuller
Bad excuses are worse than none.

Unknown Author
Don't make excuses, make good.

Publilius Syrus
Every vice has its excuse ready.

Benjamin Franklin
He that is good for making excuses is seldom good for anything else.

Gabriel Meurier
He who excuses himself, accuses himself.

Henry Ward Beecher
Hold yourself responsible for a higher standard than anybody else expects of you, never excuse yourself.

Yiddish Proverb
If you don't want to do something, one excuse is as good as another.

Francois de la Rochefoucauld
Nothing is impossible; there are ways that lead to everything, and if we had sufficient will we should always have sufficient means. It is often merely for an excuse that we say things are impossible.

Napoleon Hill
The best job goes to the person who can get it done without passing the buck or coming back with excuses.

Thomas Szasz
Two wrongs don't make a right, but they make a good excuse.

H. V. Adolt
We are all manufacturers. Making good, making trouble, or making excuses.

Abraham H. Maslow
We are not in a position in which we have nothing to work with. We already have capacities, talents, direction, missions, and callings.

Rudyard Kipling
We have forty million reasons for failure, but not a single excuse.

It Is an Honorable Thought by Emily Dickinson

It is an honorable thought,
And makes one lift one's hat,
As one encountered gentlefolk
Upon a daily street,

That we've immortal place,
Though pyramids decay,
And kingdoms, like the orchard,
Flit russetly away.

Knocked Up, Henry Lawson

I'm lyin' on the barren ground that's baked and cracked with drought,
And dunno if my legs or back or heart is most wore out;
I've got no spirits left to rise and smooth me achin' brow --
I'm too knocked up to light a fire and bile the billy now.

Oh it's trampin', trampin', tra-a-mpin', in flies an' dust an' heat,
Or it's trampin' trampin' tra-a-a-mpin'
through mud and slush 'n sleet;
It's tramp an' tramp for tucker -- one everlastin' strife,
An' wearin' out yer boots an' heart in the wastin' of yer life.

They whine o' lost an' wasted lives in idleness and crime --
I've wasted mine for twenty years, and grafted all the time
And never drunk the stuff I earned, nor gambled when I shore --
But somehow when yer on the track yer life seems wasted more.

A long dry stretch of thirty miles I've tramped this broilin' day,
All for the off-chance of a job a hundred miles away;
There's twenty hungry beggars wild for any job this year,
An' fifty might be at the shed while I am lyin' here.

The sinews in my legs seem drawn, red-hot -- 'n that's the truth;
I seem to weigh a ton, and ache like one tremendous tooth;
I'm stung between my shoulder-blades -- my blessed back seems broke;
I'm too knocked out to eat a bite -- I'm too knocked up to smoke.

The blessed rain is comin' too -- there's oceans in the sky,
An' I suppose I must get up and rig the blessed fly;
The heat is bad, the water's bad, the flies a crimson curse,
The grub is bad, mosquitoes damned -- but rheumatism's worse.

I wonder why poor blokes like me will stick so fast ter breath,
Though Shakespeare says it is the fear of somethin' after death;
But though Eternity be cursed with God's almighty curse --
What ever that same somethin' is I swear it can't be worse.

For it's trampin', trampin', tra-a-mpin' thro' hell across the plain,
And it's trampin' trampin' tra-a-mpin' thro' slush 'n mud 'n rain --
A livin' worse than any dog -- without a home 'n wife,
A-wearin' out yer heart 'n soul in the wastin' of yer life.