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A coquette is a young lady of more beauty than sense, more accomplishments than learning, more charms not person than graces of mind, more admirers than friends, mole fools than wise men for attendants.
A life of honor and of worth
Has no eternity on earth,--
'Tis but a name--
And yet its glory far exceeds
That base and sensual life which leads
To want and shame.
A life of honour and of worth
Has no eternity on earth,--
'Tis but a name.
A life that is worth writing at all is worth writing minutely.
A millstone and the human heart are driven ever round,
If they have nothing else to grind, they must themselves be ground.
- translation of Friedrich von Logau's "Sinnegedichte"
A storm-cloud lurid with lightning,
And a cry of lamentation,
Repeated and again repeated,
Deep and loud
As the reverberation
Of cloud answering unto cloud,
Swells and rolls away in the distance,
As if the sheeted
Baffled and thwarted by the wind's resistance.
A torn jacket is soon mended, but hard words bruise the heart of a child.
A word that has been said may be unsaid; it is but air. But when a deed is done, it cannot be undone, nor can our thoughts reach out to all the mischiefs that may follow.
Ah, how wonderful is the advent of the spring,--the great annual miracle of the blossoming of Aaron's rod, repeated on myriads and myriads of branches!
All is of God. If He but wave His hand,
The mists collect, the rains fall thick and loud;
Till, with a smile of light on sea and land,
Lo! He looks back from the departing cloud.
Angels of life and death alike are His;
Without His leave they pass no threshold o'er;
Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this,
Against His messengers to shut the door?
All life needs for lift is possible to will.
All sense of hearing and of sight enfold in the serene delight and quietude of sleep.
All things are symbols: the external shows
Of Nature have their image in the mind,
As flowers and fruits and falling of the leaves.
All was ended now, the hope and the fear and the sorrow, all the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing, all the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of patience.
Ambition's cradle oftenest is its grave.
And so we plough along, as the fly said to the ox.
And the maize-field grew and ripened,
Till it stood in the splendor
Of its garments green and yellow.
And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense of pain was the silence.
And with childlike credulous affection
We behold their tender buds expand;
Emblems of our own great resurrection,
Emblems of the bright and better land.
Art is the gift of God, and must be used unto His glory.
As the evening twilight fades away, the sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.
As the heart is, so is love to the heart. It partakes of its strength or weakness, its health or disease.
As to the pure mind all things are pure, so to the poetic mind all things are poetical.
- [Poetry : Purity]
At my feet the city slumbered.
Authors have a greater right than any copyright, though it is generally unacknowledged or disregarded. They have a right to the reader's civility. There are favorable hours for reading a book, as for writing it, and to these the author has a claim. Yet many people think that when they buy a book they buy with it the right to abuse the author.
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