Now, for my life, she's wand'ring to the Tower,
On pure heart's love, to greet the tender Princes.
Now, for my life, she's wand'ring to the Tower,
On pure heart's love, to greet the tender Princes.
There is an invisible garment woven around us from our earliest years; it is made of the way we eat, the way we walk, the way we greet people.
A friend I greet
In each flower and tree and wind-
Oh, but life is sweet, is sweet!
Our love was new, and then but in the spring
When I was wont to greet it with my lays,
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing,
And stops her pipe in growth of riper days-
Not that the summer is less pleasant now
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,
But that wild music burthens every bough,
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
And if you dont believe the sun will rise, stand alone and greet the coming night in the last remaining light.
A hat should be taken off when you greet a lady and left off for the rest of your life. Nothing looks more stupid than a hat.
Men greet each other with a sock on the arm, women with a hug, and the hug wears better in the long run.
From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure love,
To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.
He must be independent and brave, and sure of himself and of the importance of his work, because if he isn't he will never survive the scorching blasts of derision that will probably greet his first efforts.
Take care, these Italians, full of failings, are neither you, nor me; they are your neighbors, the ones you meet on the staircase and whom you do not like to greet.
Nothing is more dreadful in life than the profound thought that death may only greet you with eternal nothingness.
Not by appointment do we meet delight Or joy; they heed not our expectancy; But round some corner of the streets of life they of a sudden greet us with a smile.
Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.
The true adventurer goes forth aimless and uncalculating to meet and greet unknown fate.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown;
A thousand thousand to save,
Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave,
To weep there!
Each morning my characters greet me with misty faces willing, though chilled, to muster for another day's progress through the dazzling quicksand the marsh of blank paper.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories