Well, yes: people write poems when they are in love, but a wise man will not print them.
The angel plucks a large handful of flowers, and they carry it with them up to God, where the flowers bloom more brightly than they ever did on earth.
But these are small troubles, people will say. Yes, but they are drops which wear hollows in the rock.
Early in the morning, a peasant, who was passing by, saw what had happened. He broke the ice in pieces with his wooden shoe, and carried the duckling home to his wife. The warmth revived the poor.
There was once a king’s son. Nobody had so many or such beautiful books as he had. He could read about everything which had ever happened in the world, and see it all represented in the most beautiful pictures.
And Kay and Gerda looked in each other’s eyes, and all at once they understood the old hymn: “The rose in the valley is blooming so sweet, And angels descend there the children to greet.” There sat the two grown-up persons; grown-up, and yet children; children at least in heart; and it was summer-time; summer, glorious summer!
Superbe! Charmant! exclaimed the ladies; for they all used to chatter French, each one worse than her neighbor.
No death is sweeter than this, and no rose redder than the blood that flows.
A short time ago” – the Star’s “short time ago” is called among men “centuries ago” – “my rays followed a young artist. It was in the city of the Popes, in.
Then he would cry, but what nobody knows nobody cares for; so he would cry till he was tired, and then fall asleep; and while we are asleep we can feel neither hunger nor thirst. Ah, yes; sleep is a capital invention.
At his next visit he fancied he must have got into a narrow needlecase, full of sharp needles: “Oh,” thought he, “this must be the heart of an old maid;” but such was not the fact;.
To be born in a duck’s nest in a farmyard is of no consequence to a bird if it is hatched from a swan’s egg. He now felt glad at having suffered sorrow and trouble, because it enabled him to enjoy so much better all the pleasure and happiness around him; for the great swans swam round the newcomer and stroked his neck with their beaks, as a welcome.
But he hasn’t got anything on,” a little child said.
The stork walking about on his long red legs chattered in the Egyptian language, which he had learnt from his mother. The corn-fields and meadows were surrounded by large forests, in the midst of which were deep pools.
But he hasn’t got anything on!” the whole town cried out at last.
But if the star should set, even while I am penning these lines, be it so; still I can say it has shone, and I have received a rich portion.
Yet still they flew on and on, higher and higher, till at last the mirror trembled so fearfully that it slipped from their hands and fell to the earth, shivered into hundreds of millions and billions of bits. And then it did more harm than ever. Some of these bits were not as big as a grain of sand and these flew about, all over the world, getting into people’s eyes. And once in, they stuck there and distorted everything they looked at or made them see everything that was amiss.
Sharp knives seemed to cut her delicate feet, yet she hardly felt them – so deep was the pain in her heart.
Behind each petal of the rose he had a tiny bedroom. Oh, how fragrant his rooms were, and how bright and transparent the walls, for they were the beautiful pale pink petals of the rose! All day long the little elf rejoiced in the warm sunshine as he flew from flower to flower or danced on the wings of the fluttering butterflies...
The sea is softer than your delicate hands, and yet it can alter the shape of hard stones.
This was the last evening that she should breathe the same air with him or gaze on the starry sky and the deep sea. An eternal night, without a thought or a dream, awaited her.