Homage Quotes

“What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the
end to arrest it,
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.”
― Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

“Respect cannot be inherited, respect is the result of right actions.”
― Amit Kalantri, Wealth of Words

“Death takes us by surprise,
And stays our hurrying feet;
The great design unfinished lies,
Our lives are incomplete
But in the dark unknown,
Perfect their circles seem,
Even as a bridge's arch of stone
Is rounded in the stream.
Alike are life and death,
When life in death survives,
And the uninterrupted breath
Inspires a thousand lives.
Were a star quenched on high,
For ages would its light,
Still traveling downward from the sky,
Shine on our mortal sight.
So when a great man dies,
For years beyond our ken,
The light he leaves behind him lies
Upon the paths of men.”
― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, The Complete Poems of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

“All rivers pay homage to the ocean for it lies lowest.”
― Jeffrey Fry

“Compare King William with the philosopher Haeckel. The king is one of the anointed by the most high, as they claim—one upon whose head has been poured the divine petroleum of authority. Compare this king with Haeckel, who towers an intellectual colossus above the crowned mediocrity. Compare George Eliot with Queen Victoria. The Queen is clothed in garments given her by blind fortune and unreasoning chance, while George Eliot wears robes of glory woven in the loom of her own genius.

The world is beginning to pay homage to intellect, to genius, to heart.

We have advanced. We have reaped the benefit of every sublime and heroic self-sacrifice, of every divine and brave act; and we should endeavor to hand the torch to the next generation, having added a little to the intensity and glory of the flame.”
― Robert G. Ingersoll, The Liberty Of Man, Woman And Child

“Nevertheless man has found love, which is not a bad reply to that sly Deity, and he has adorned it with so much poetry that woman often forgets the sensual part of it. Those among us who are unable to deceive themselves have invented vice and refined debauchery, which is another way of laughing at God and paying homage, immodest homage, to beauty.”
― Guy de Maupassant

“Here there was a cheerful boy
At least he created tales and lived in joy.
Nursery rhymes his grandmother told,
Songs and tales emerged gladly in gold.

Caring heart, affection spoke loud as brighter,
He made the decision: he would be a writer!
Rising laughters, crying tears, many feelings,
Inserted everything and nothing was in vain.
So he transformed the ugly into beautiful,
Tales to amuse and make everyone sane,
In there he went, without daydreams or zeal.
As such it was born the icon of literature still.
No one denied he was exceedingly bountiful.

A ballerina loves the soldier in his world,
Nothing gets involved in his fairy tales,
Dancing from a poor weak boy to a king,
Eccentric prince of charm in winged corners!
Rare star of sweet tenderness,
Sensible and masterful in tenderness,
Emchanted kingdom of dreams and candor,
Now a divine fire of a soul he shines.

Havia um menino alegre porem so
Ao menos criava contos e deles vivia
Nas historias que contava sua avo,
Seus contos surgiam pois ele os via.

Carinho nao faltava em seu coracao ator,
Havia tomado a decisao: seria escritor!
Risos, lagrimas, sentimentos saos,
Inseria tudo e nada era em vao.
Transformava ate o feio em belo,
Inadvertia e divertia com seu elo,
Adiante ia, sem devaneios e zelo.
Nascia assim o icone da literatura.

A bailarina ama o soldado em seu mundo,
Nada se interpunha em seus contos de fadas,
De pobre menino fraco e cogitabundo,
Era principe de encantos em cantos alados!
Rara estrela de doce brandura,
Sensata e magistral em ternura,
Em seu reino de sonhos e candura,
No fogo divino de sua alma fulgura.”
― Ana Claudia Antunes, ACross Tic

“Not to mention Graceless, Pointless, Feckless and Aimless, who are all under-producing and their milk is sour and they won’t go anywhere near the yard.”
― Charles stross

“Herman and I have been doing a lot of talking about the cake the past couple of days, and we think we have a good plan for the three tiers. The bottom tier will be the chocolate tier and incorporate the dacquoise component, since that will all provide a good strong structural base. We are doing an homage to the Frango mint, that classic Chicago chocolate that was originally produced at the Marshall Field's department store downtown. We're going to make a deep rich chocolate cake, which will be soaked in fresh-mint simple syrup. The dacquoise will be cocoa based with ground almonds for structure, and will be sandwiched between two layers of a bittersweet chocolate mint ganache, and the whole tier will be enrobed in a mint buttercream.
The second tier is an homage to Margie's Candies, an iconic local ice cream parlor famous for its massive sundaes, especially their banana splits. It will be one layer of vanilla cake and one of banana cake, smeared with a thin layer of caramelized pineapple jam and filled with fresh strawberry mousse. We'll cover it in chocolate ganache and then in sweet cream buttercream that will have chopped Luxardo cherries in it for the maraschino-cherry-on-top element.
The final layer will be a nod to our own neighborhood, pulling from the traditional flavors that make up classical Jewish baking. The cake will be a walnut cake with hints of cinnamon, and we will do a soaking syrup infused with a little bit of sweet sherry. A thin layer of the thick poppy seed filling we use in our rugelach and hamantaschen, and then a layer of honey-roasted whole apricots and vanilla pastry cream. This will get covered in vanilla buttercream.”
― Stacey Ballis, Wedding Girl

“Why would anyone write anything after Hemingway, or compose a symphony after Beethoven, or paint a landscape after Turner? It isn't necessarily about doing it better. It's about doing it."
"Michael, that isn't what I meant. It's just, why should I slave away in the kitchen when I can just come here and pay for someone really talented to do all the work while I enjoy the results?"
"Tell her, Mira," Michael says, reaching back into Renata's dish for another taste.
I know what Michael means. If someone told me that I could travel anywhere and eat anything I wanted, choosing, if I so desired, to eat only in Michelin-rated restaurants for the rest of my life, but the price for such a gourmand's dream would be that I could never cook again, I'd turn it down without a moment's hesitation. It's about doing your best by a pile of mussels sweet from the sea, or holding a perfect tomato, warm, rosy, and smelling like summer, and knowing that there are a dozen ways that you can prepare it, each one a delicious homage.”
― Meredith Mileti, Aftertaste: A Novel in Five Courses

“Hypocrisy a homage is true,
That vice pays to virtue,
Be man - himself so true,
That no false does he brew.”
― Munindra Misra, Pt. Kanhaiya Lal Misra - My Father

“You won't get credit for everything you do. Be find with that. You did it because it needed to be done.”
― Darnell Lamont Walker

“Public homage was like a humiliation. The author was caught in a psychologically damaging confusion between his social being, reduced to only a face and a body, subject to gawking and applause, and his moral being.”
― Antoine Lilti, The Invention of Celebrity

“If heaven is full of scars
And life filled with stars
then death is just an homage
for those who felt love
but harsh”
― G. P. Moci, Artist's notes

“Let us remember that, as much has been given us, much will be expected from us, and that true homage comes from the heart as well as from the lips, and shows itself in deeds.”
― Theodore Roosevelt

“Elementary, my dear colonel,' she said. 'When every sensible explanation has been disproved, then whatever remains, however silly, must be the truth.”
― Philip Reeve, Starcross

“The Poe Toaster by Stewart Stafford

They call me The Poe Toaster,
A sixty-year mourner, no boaster,
With roses and cognac, I paid homage,
To gothic Quarles’ eternal foggage.

Some call me ghoul, stalker, graver,
Obsessed fan, tombstone trader,
Let him sleep unbroken, still his ghost,
Tomahawk, overdue a tribute toast.

Three roses; in-law, Eddy and wife,
Cognac, exorbitant luxury in life,
Relax, for I was kind, my friend,
Pouring amontillado until the end.

Why I stopped, if I'm woman or man,
Are mysteries for C. Auguste Dupin,
Shipwrecked on Night’s Plutonian shore,
Allied with the silken darkness of yore.

© Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“With every movie that they do, they’ll come up with a few films they really like and we’ll talk about them. Way back when we did Barton Fink, Joel and Ethan would say, ’Think Kubrick!”
― Adam Nayman, The Coen Brothers: This Book Really Ties the Films Together

“The Quarrelsome Crab is a curious club, which, over the years, has niftily perfected the art of reincarnation. Its origins are lost in the pea-soupers of time, but I first joined the place when it sailed under the flag of The bitter Pill. Almost immediately it mutated into The Feverish Cheese, before becoming The Frozen Limit, The Startled Shrimp, The Mottled Oyster, and then, very briefly, The Last Gasp....There was a brief attempt to revive the The Frozen Limit when The Last Gasp was raided, but the name had been nabbed by one of Soho's more unyielding criminal gangs. And so The Quarrelsome Crab was born—for how long, though, was anyone's guess.”
― Ben Schott, Jeeves and the Leap of Faith