Trouble is the next best thing to enjoyment; there is no fate in the world so horrible as to have no share in either its joys or sorrows.
Build me straight. O worthy Master! Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel That shall laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!
Thinking the deed, and not the creed, Would help us in our utmost need.
That tree is very old, but I never saw prettier blossoms on it than it now bears. That tree grows new wood each year. Like that apple tree, I try to grow a new little wood each year.
What shall I say to you? What can I say Better than silence is?
The hooded clouds, like friars, Tell their beads in drops of rain.
See yonder little cloud, that, borne aloft So tenderly by the wind, floats fast away Over the snowy peaks!
To say the least, a town life makes one more tolerant and liberal in one’s judgment of others.
So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest.
Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands.
Chill air and wintry winds! My ear has grown familiar with your song; I hear it in the opening year, I listen, and it cheers me long.
There’s nothing fair nor beautiful, but takes Something from thee, that makes it beautiful.
I hear the wind among the trees Playing the celestial symphonies; I see the branches downward bent, Like keys of some great instrument.
The prayer of Ajax was for light.
The smoking flax before it burst to flame Was quenched by death, and broken the bruised reed.
In the mouths of many men soft words are like roses that soldiers put into the muzzles of their muskets on holidays.
Life is the gift of God, and is divine.
Sweet April! many a thought Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed; Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life’s golden fruit is shed.
Midnight! the outpost of advancing day! The frontier town and citadel of night!
Kind messages, that pass from land to land; Kind letters, that betray the heart’s deep history, In which we feel the pressure of a hand, – One touch of fire, – and all the rest is mystery!