Intelligence and courtesy not always are combined; Often in a wooden house a golden room we find.
Intelligence and courtesy not always are combined; Often in a wooden house a golden room we find.
Sometimes we may learn more from a man's errors, than from his virtues.
Look, then, into thine heart, and write.
Beside the ungathered rice he lay. His sickle in his hand.
Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still like muffled drums are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.
So when a great man dies, For years beyond our ken, The light he leaves behind him lies Upon the paths of men.
All this rhyme
Is waste of time!
The tree of life has been shaken,
And but few of us linger now,
Like the prophets two or three berries
In the top of the uppermost bough.
Deeds are better things than words are, actions mightier than boastings
Men of genius are often dull and inert in society; as the blazing meteor, when it descends to earth, is only a stone.
The rapture of pursuing is the prize the vanquished gain.
Kind hearts are the gardens, Kind thoughts are the roots, Kind words are the flowers, Kind deeds are the fruits, Take care of your garden And keep out the weeds, Fill it with sunshine Kind words and kind deeds
As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, Leads by the hand her little child to bed, Half willing, half reluctant to be led, And leave his broken playthings on the floor. Still gazing at them through the open door, Nor wholly reassured and comforted By promises of others in their stead Which, the more splendid, may not please him more So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest so gently, that we go Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, Being too full of sleep to understand How far the unknown transcends the what we know.
Sleep ... Oh how I loathe those little slices of death ....
We have not wings we cannot soar but, we have feet to scale and climb, by slow degrees, by more and more, the cloudy summits of our time.
Gone are the living, but the dead remain, And not neglected for a hand unseen, Scattering its bounty like a summer rain, Still keeps their graves and their remembrance green.
Christmas Bells I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men And thought how, as the day had come, The belfries of all Christendom Had rolled along The unbroke.
By too much sitting still, the body becomes unhealthy and soon the mind
Thought takes man out of servitude, into freedom.
But the father answered never a word. A frozen corpse was he.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way But to act, that each to-morrow Finds us further than to-day.
Good-night good-night as we so oft have said, Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days That are no more, and shall no more return. Thou hast but taken up thy lamp and gone to bed I stay a little longer, as one stays To cover up the embers that still burn.
The holiest of all holidays are those Kept by ourselves in silence and apart The secret anniversaries of the heart.
The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark.
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.
Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.
In this world a man must be either anvil or hammer.
Write on your doors the saying wise and old. Be bold and everywhere - Be bold Be not too bold Yet better the excess Than the defect better the more than less...
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.
There are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret, Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together.
I venerate old age and I love not the man who can look without emotion upon the sunset of life, when the dusk of evening begins to gather over the watery eye, and the shadows of twilight grow broader and deeper upon the understanding.
That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.
Upon its midnight battle-ground
The spectral camp is seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
Flows the River of Life between.
All common things, each day's events, That with the hour begin and end, Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we may ascend.
I have an affection for a great city. I feel safe in the neighborhood of man, and enjoy the sweet security of the streets.
Build me straight, O worthy Master Staunch and strong, a goodly vessel, That shall laugh at all disaster, And with wave and whirlwind wrestle
Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought Thus on its sounding anvil shaped Each burning deed and thought.
Into each life some rain must fall.
There is nothing holier in this life of ours than the first consciousness of love, the first fluttering of its silken wings.
The prayer of Ajax was for light.
But the good deed, through the ages, Living in historic pages, Brighter grows and gleams immortal, Unconsumed by moth or rust.
In this world a man must either be anvil or hammer.
The mind of the scholar, if he would leave it large and liberal, should come in contact with other minds.
Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds he all.
The lamps are lit, the fires burn bright. The house is full of life and light.
His brow is wet with honest sweat he earns whatever he can, And looks the whole world in the face, For he owes not any man.
It takes less time to do a thing right, than it does to explain why you did it wrong.
Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, She lives whom we call dead.
A Lady with a Lamp shall stand In the great history of the land. A noble type of good, Heroic womanhood.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories