The lack of money is the root of all evil.
The money-getter who pleads his love of work has a lame defense, for love of work at money-getting is a lower taste than love of money.
I give you my hand, I give you my love more precious than money, I give you myself before preaching or law; Will you give me yourself?
Most of Hollywood is about making money - and I love money, but I don't make the films thinking about money.
That one never need to look beyond the love of money for explanation of human behavior is one of the most jealously guarded simplification of our culture.
The solution to any problem -work, love, money, whatever -is to go fishing, and the worse the problem, the longer the trip should be.
My philosophy has always been, do what you love and the money will follow.
I like the copious, shapeless, warm, not so very clever, but extremely easy and rather coarse aspect of things; the talk of men in clubs and public-houses; of miners half naked in drawers the forthright, perfectly unassuming, and without end in view except dinner, love, money and getting along tolerably; that which is without great hopes, ideals, or anything of that kind; what is unassuming except to make a tolerably, good job of it. I like all that.
I don't know if Jesus said it in the Bible, but someone said that 'the love of money is the root of all evil,' and I do think there's a correlation between the ambition that a lot of people have, in terms of financial remuneration, and the loss of core values.
The makers of fortunes have a second love of money as a creation of their own, resembling the affection of authors for their own poems, or of parents for their children, besides that natural love of it for the sake of use and profit.
Forced to choose, the poor, like the rich, love money more than political liberty; and the only political freedom capable of enduring is one that is so pruned as to keep the rich from denuding the poor by ability or subtlety and the poor from robbing the rich by violence or votes.
If you love money and you want to be creative, you cannot become creative. The very ambition for money is going to destroy your creativity. If you want fame, then forget about creativity. Fame comes easier if you are destructive.
Men in general are too material and do not make enough human contacts. If we search for the fundamentals which actually motivate us we will find that they come under four headings: love, money, adventure and religion. It is to some of them that we always owe that big urge which pushes us onward. Men who crush these impulses and settle down to everyday routine are bound to sink into mediocrity. No man is a complete unit of himself; he needs the contact, the stimulus and the driving power which is generated by his contact with other men, their ideas, and constantly changing scenes.
Women love money. You give them a couple thousand bucks and they’re happy.
To love money is to know and love the fact that money is the creation of the best power within you, and your passkey to trade your effort for the effort of the best among men.
The love of money is the source of an enormous amount of good; the fact that the good is a by-product of the selfish pursuit of riches has nothing to do with its indisputable value.
If I could live in a tiny dwelling on a rock in the ocean, surrounded by the waves of the sea and cut off from the sight and sound of everything else, I would still not be free of the cares of this passing world, or from the fear that somehow the love of money might still come and snatch me away.
Whence comes war and fighting, and factions? Whence but from the body and the lust of the body? Wars are occasioned by the love of money, and money has to be acquired for the same and service of the body.
The love of money grows as the money itself grows.
I knew so little about money I used to sign my check, "Love, Rita."
I love money, I love women, I like to work hard and I don't use drugs.
Are you willing to take the Big Leap to your ultimate level of success in love, money, and creative contribution?
The love of money as a possession...will be recognised for what it is, a somewhat disgusting morbidity.
You know that I love you." And despite herself, Coraline nodded. It was true. The other mother loved her. But she loved Coraline as a miser loves money, or a dragon loves its gold. In the other mother's button eyes, Coraline knew that she was a possession, nothing more. A tolerated pet, whose behavior was no longer amusing.
When love and adventure are finished, it's nice to have getting and spending to fall back on.
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