Burning truths from Billy's bat : $b A graphic description of the remarkable conversion of Rev. "Billy" Sunday (the world's famous evangelist)—embodying anecdotes, terse sayings, etc., compiled from various sourcesSunday, Billy
Religion
Burning truths from Billy's bat : $b A graphic description of the remarkable conversion of Rev. "Billy" Sunday (the world's famous evangelist)—embodying anecdotes, terse sayings, etc., compiled from various sources
Sunday, Billy
Christian life; Conduct of life; Sunday, Billy, 1862-1935 -- Anecdotes
Don’t have your veins filled with ice water. Get some pepper, ginger and
tabasco sauce into them.
Be a live wire. Be like the man with the itch; make everybody scratch when
they come near you.
Remember, you’re not measured by your size, but by what you are.
If your pockets are empty, fill your heart with resolutions and get into
the game. Don’t sit on the bleachers and growl.
You can’t determine success by the rattle of the cash register.
The limbs of the tree of knowledge hang so low that anybody with ambition
can reach up and pluck the fruit.
Cities are whirlpools that whirl you into the jaws of hell.
A FEW BUNTS TO LIVE STUDENTS.
It’s a sad day for the young man when President Taft’s overcoat won’t make
him a vest, he’s so chesty.
Education is knowing what you want, knowing how to get it, and knowing
what to do with it after you get it.
If you find a fellow on the top of the hill, he never “lit” there; he
climbed.
You can’t measure manhood by a tape line around the waist.
Parents, don’t try to make your boy another “you.” If God had wanted
another “you,” he would have made you twins.
You can’t always tell the size of a man by the fuss he makes. A frog makes
more noise than a whale.
We can build universities, tax the people to support them and furnish
the best curriculum on God’s dirt, but we can’t make something out of a
nonentity.
When a girl is seventeen and is introduced to a young man, she asks, “Who
is he?” At twenty-two she asks, “What is he?” and at thirty-five she
cries, “For God’s sake, where is he?”
If I had lived in Napoleon’s day I would have followed his star for he
could hit the ball.
You can hear more curbstone, barbershop and livery stable theology in this
city today than ever before.
All some men are fit for is to make one more when the census count is
taken.
The man who has nothing but money is the poorest man on earth.
It’s the false ideal that strews this world with wrecks.
SUNDAY’S TRIBUTE TO THE HOLIDAYS.
“I’m glad we celebrate the Fourth of July, when we can uncork our
enthusiasm and shoot firecrackers and eat peanuts and drink red lemonade,
for it makes us realize that we are living in the greatest nation that
man’s eye ever saw or God’s hand ever made. I’m glad we have Labor
day, when the man who toils can have a holiday of his own. I’m glad we
celebrate Easter to commemorate the time when the Son of Man arose in
conquering majesty. I’m glad we celebrate Thanksgiving, when we sit at our
sumptuously laden tables and recall that as a nation we have never gone
to bed hungry and that our granaries have never been empty, and reflect
that we have one state that can raise corn enough to feed us all. America
can feed the world. I pay tribute to the man with the dinner bucket,
with bundles of muscle that knot like steel. All these days are days of
precious memories, days that make the nation strong and great, days that
make us better men and women.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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