The delicate thought, that cannot find expression, For ruder speech too fair, That, like thy petals, trembles in possession, And scatters on the air.
A bird in the hand is a certainty, but a bird in the bush may sing.
The only sure thing about luck is that it will change.
Love differs from all the other contagious diseases: the last time a man is exposed to it, he takes it most readily, and has it the worst!
Perhaps there is no gift of nature that requires as little exertion on the part of the owner as personal beauty. I am not certain but that it is this very absence of effort which excites our admiration.
For the glory born of Goodness Never dies, And its flag is not half-masted In the skies.
The dominant expression of a child is gravity.
Nobody shoulders a rifle in defense of a boarding house.
Never a lip is curved with pain that can’t be kissed into smiles again.
It would seem evident, therefore, that the secret of the American short story was the treatment of characteristic American life, with absolute knowledge of its peculiarities and sympathy with its method...
Which I wish to remark – And my language is plain, – That for ways that are dark And for tricks that are vain, The heathen Chinee is peculiar.
Never a tear bedims the eye that time and patience will not dry.
Your voices break and falter in the darkness, Break, falter, and are still.
There is peace in the swamp, though the quiet is Death.
Each lost day has its patron saint!
One big vice in a man is apt to keep out a great many smaller ones.