We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.
Don’t burn your bridges behind you.
By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world.
Let every man praise the bridge that carries him over.
The law, in its majestic equality, forbids the rich as well as the poor to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets, and to steal bread.
Don’t cross the bridge until you get to it.
He that cannot forgive others, breaks the bridge over which he himself must pass if he would ever reach heaven; for everyone has need to be forgiven.
I do agree that, as a Nation, we spend far too much money on unnecessary and redundant bridges. We do not know the Number of The Trolls, for the Ancient Texts say that we cannot know, at least not until the Day of Slaughter. I don’t agree with the fundamentalists who say that we insult […]
If you hug to yourself any resentment against anybody else, you destroy the bridge by which God would come to you.
Sometimes, if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known.