There is nothing the body suffers the soul may not profit by.
There is nothing the body suffers the soul may not profit by.
. . . the world prefers decorum to honesty.
Sweet dove,
Your sleep is pure.
Swift doth young Love flee,
And we stand wakened, shivering from our dream.
Pluck out the eyes of pride!
Lowly, with a broken neck, The crocus lays her cheek to mire.
Cynicism is intellectual dandyism without the coxcomb's feathers.
Cultivated men and women who do not skim the cream of life, and are attached to the duties, yet escape the harder blows, make acute and balanced observers
A witty woman is a treasure; a witty beauty is a power.
Always imitate the behavior of the winners when you lose.
Don't just count your years, make your years count.
We are the lords of life, and life is warm.
More brain, O Lord, more brain!
Our tragedy, is it alive or dead?
I looked for peace, and thought it near.
She whom I love is hard to catch and conquer, Hard, but O the glory of the winning were she won
Sentimentalists are they who seek to enjoy without incurring the Immense Debtorship for a thing done.
A human act once set in motion flows on forever to the great account. Our deathlessness is in what we do, not in what we are.
For happiness is somewhere to be had.
Who rises from prayer a better man, his prayer is answered.
Speech is the small change of silence.
The misery is greater, as I live!
But how divine is utterance she said. As we to the brutes, poets are to us.
O Lady, once I gave love: now I take!
A kiss is but a kiss now!
Kissing don't last: cookery do!
Each one of an affectionate couple may be willing, as we say, to die for the other, yet unwilling to utter the agreeable word at the right moment
Such love I prize not, madam: by your leave,
The game you play at is not to my mind.
Lovely are the curves of the white owl sweeping Wavy in the dusk lit by one large star. Lone on the fir-branch, his rattle-note unvaried, Brooding o'er the gloom, spins the brown eve-jar.
I open an old book, and there I find
That "Women still may love whom they deceive.
. . . the well of true wit is truth itself, the gathering of the precious drops of right reason, wisdom's lightning and no soul possessing and dispensing it can justly be a target for the world, however well armed the world confronting her.
The words are very like: the name is new.
Speak, and I see the side - lie of a truth.
Possession without obligation to the object possessed approaches felicity.
There is nothing the body suffers that the soul may not profit by.
This was the woman; what now of the man?
Prepare,
You lovers, to know Love a thing of moods:
Not like hard life, of laws.
I expect that Woman will be the last thing civilized by Man.
I feel thy song, my fairest friend!
She poured a little social sewage into his ears.
Memoirs are the backstairs of history.
On a starred night Prince Lucifer uprose, Tired of his dark dominion swung the fiend ... He reached a middle height, and at the stars, Which are the brain of heaven, he looked, and sank. Around the ancient track marched, rank on rank, The army of unalterable law.
He thanked me, observing that there were days when you lay on your back and the sky rained apples while there were other days when you wore your fingers down to the first joint to catch a flea. Such was Fortune
Love that so desires would fain keep her changeless Fain would fling the net, and fain have her free.
The well of true wit is truth itself.
Lose calmly Love's great bliss,
When the renewed for ever of a kiss
Whirls life within the shower of loosened hair!
Caricature is rough truth.
The love is here; it has but changed its aim.
That rarest gift to Beauty, Common Sense.
What may the woman labour to confess?
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories