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A newspaper, like a theatre, must mainly owe its continuance in life to the fact that it pleases many persons; and in order to please many persons it will unconsciously perhaps, respond to their several tastes, reflect their various qualities, and reproduce their views. In a certain sense it is evolved out of the community that absorbs it, and, therefore, partaking of the character of the community, while it may retain many merits and virtues, it will display itself, as in some respects ignorant, trivial, narrow, and vulgar.
As much of heaven is visible as we have eyes to see.
As often as I come back to his door, his love met me on the threshold, and his noble serenity gave me comfort and peace.
Bishop Ken styled poetry "thought in blossom."
Cities, unlike human creatures, may grow to be so old that at last they will become new.
Fate is character.
Greatness, in any period and under any circumstances, has always been rare. It is of elemental birth, and is independent alike of its time and its circumstances.
Human judgment is finite, and it ought always to be charitable.
Life, unexplored, is hope's perpetual blaze--
When past, one long, involved, and darksome maze:
But, that some mighty power controls the whole,
A secret intuition tells the soul.
Manners,--the final and perfect flower of noble character.
Mediocrity is less sensitive than genius, and therefore suffers less under nearly any possible exigency.
The dramatist, like the poet, is born, not made. * * * There must be inspiration back of all true and permanent art, dramatic or otherwise, and art is universal; there is nothing national about it. Its field is humanity, and it takes in all the world; nor does anything else afford the refuge that is provided by it from all troubles and all the vicissitudes of life.
The inexhaustible talk that was the flow of a golden sea of eloquence and wisdom.
The past is utterly indifferent to its worshipers.
The stage * * * is the mirror of human life.
There is a better thing than the great man who is always speaking, and that is the great man who only speaks when he has a great word to say.
There is no creature so lonely as the dweller in the intellect.
True passion is not a wisp light; it is a consuming flame, and either it must find fruition or it will burn the human heart to dust and ashes.
What after all remains, when life is sped,
And man is gathered to the silent dead?
Home to the narrow house, the long, long sleep,
Where pain is stilled, and sorrow doth not weep.
While our hearts are pure,
Our lives are happy and our peace is sure.
In that dusk land of mystic dream
Where dark Osiris sprung,
It bloomed beside his sacred stream
While yet the world was young;
And every secret Nature told,
Of golden wisdom's power,
Is nestled still in every fold,
Within the Lotos flower.
- A Lotos Flower [Lotuses]
But the grandsire's chair is empty,
The cottage is dark and still,
There's a nameless grave on the battle-field,
And a new one under the hill.
- After All [Graves]
Here's a health to the lass with the merry black eyes!
Here's a health to the lad with the blue ones!
- Blue and Black [Toasts]
Life is arched with changing skies:
Rarely are they what they seem:
Children we of smiles and sighs--
Much we know, but more we dream.
- Light and Shadow [Change]
He loves not well whose love is bold!
I would not have thee come too nigh.
The sun's gold would not seem pure gold
Unless the sun were in the sky:
To take him thence and chain him near
Would make his beauty disappear.
- Love's Queen [Love]
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