Robert Louis Stevenson
Robert Louis Stevenson
Robert Louis Balfour Stevensonwas a Scottish novelist, poet, essayist, and travel writer. His most famous works are Treasure Island, Kidnapped, Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and A Child's Garden of Verses...
NationalityScottish
ProfessionWriter
Date of Birth13 November 1850
almost man useless
So long as we love, we serve; so long as we are loved by others, I should say that we are almost indispensable; and no man is useless while he has a friend.
shadow littles use
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
views years use
To hold the same views at forty as we held at twenty is to have been stupefied for a score of years, and take rank, not as a prophet, but as an unteachable brat, well birched and none the wiser. It is as if a ship captain should sail to India from the Port of London; and having brought a chart of the Thames on deck at his first setting out, should obstinately use no other for the whole voyage.
harvest seeds reap
I consider the success of my day based on the seeds I sow, not the harvest I reap.
inspirational life friendship
To be what we are, and to become what we are capable of becoming, is the only end of life.
Sooner or later everyone sits down to a banquet of consequences.
You could read Kant by yourself, if you wanted; but you must share a joke with some one else.
scottish-writer
To become what we are capable of becoming is the only end in life.
action appears good mark
The mark of a good action is that it appears inevitable in retrospect.
full sure
The world is full of a number of things, I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings.
harvest inspirational judge reap seeds
Judge each day not by the harvest you reap but by the seeds you plant.
good hand holding life matter playing poor
Life is not a matter of holding good cards, but of playing a poor hand well.
flower bed-of-roses battle
Marriage is like life - it is a field of battle, not a bed of roses.
sad loneliness house
The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit, showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us.