The appetite for silence is seldom an acquired taste.
Drunkards of summer are quite as frequent as Drunkards of wine.
So proud she was to die It made us all ashamed That what we cherished, so unknown To her desire seemed. So satisfied to go Where none of us should be, Immediately, that anguish stooped Almost to jealousy.
The older I grow the more do I love spring and spring flowers. Is it so with you?
A Bayonet’s contrition is nothing to the dead.
So few that live have life...
Nothing is the force that renovates the World.
The career of flowers differs from ours only inaudibleness.
The WILL is always near, dear, though the feet vary.
To lose ones faith-surpass The loss of an Estate- Because Estates can be Replenished- faith cannot-.
His Cheek is his Biographer- As long as he can blush.
To multiply the harbors does not reduce the sea.
Not to discover weakness is The Artifice of strength.
Good times are always mutual; that is what makes good times.
I would paint a portrait which would bring the tears, had I canvas for it, and the scene should be – solitude, and the figures – solitude – and the lights and shades, each a solitude.
I think Heaven will not be as good as earth, unless it bring with it that sweet power to remember, which is the staple of Heaven here.
God’s unique capacity is too surprising to surprise.
The friend anguish reveals is the slowest forgot.
Remorse is memory awake.
Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate, Whose table once a Guest, but not The second time, is set. Whose crumbs the crows inspect, And with ironic caw Flap past it to the Farmer’s corn; Men eat of it and die.