Still, still with Thee when purple morning breaketh, When the bird walketh, and the shadows flee Fairer than morning, lovelier than daylight Dawns the sweet consciousness I am with Thee. Alone with Thee amid the mystic shadows, The solemn hush of nature newly born. Alone with Thee in breathless adoration, In the calm dew and freshness of the morn. When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber, Its closing eyes look up to Thee in prayer Sweet the repose beneath Thy wings oershading, But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there. So shall it be at last in that bright morning, When the soul walketh and lifes shadows flee. Oh, in that hour, fairer than daylights dawning, Shall rise the glorious thought I am with Thee.
I am speaking now of the highest duty we owe our friends, the noblest, the most sacred -- that of keeping their own nobleness, goodness, pure and incorrupt.
If it were admitted that the great object is to read and enjoy a language, and the stress of the teaching were placed on the few things absolutely essential to this result, . . . all might in their own way arrive there, and rejoice in its flowers . . .
All places where women are excluded tend downward to barbarism; but the moment she is introduced, there come in with her courtesy, cleanliness, sobriety, and order.
One would like to be grand and heroic, if one could; but if not, why try at all? One wants to be very something, very great, very heroic; or if not that, then at least very stylish and very fashionable. It is this everlasting mediocrity that bores me.
To do common things perfectly is far better worth our endeavor than to do uncommon things respectably.
I no more thought of style or literary excellence than the mother who rushes into the street and cries for help to save her children from a burning house, thinks of the teachings of the rhetorician or the elocutionist.
Whipping and abuse are like laudanum: you have to double the dose as the sensibilities decline.
A woman's health is her capital.
Nobody had ever instructed him that a slave-ship, with a procession of expectant sharks in its wake, is a missionary institution, by which closely-packed heathen are brought over to enjoy the light of the Gospel.
Mothers are the most instinctive philosophers.
The bitterest tears shed over graves are for words left unsaid and deeds left undone.
Everyone confesses that exertion which brings out all the powers of body and mind is the best thing for us; but most people do all they can to get rid of it, and as a general rule nobody does much more than circumstances drive them to do.
A little reflection will enable any person to detect in himself that setness in trifles which is the result of the unwatched instinct of self-will and to establish over himself a jealous guardianship.
The longest day must have its close -- the gloomiest night will wear on to a morning. An eternal, inexorable lapse of moments is ever hurrying the day of the evil to an eternal night, and the night of the just to an eternal day.
Human nature is above all things lazy.
Women are the real architects of society.
When you get into a tight place and everything goes against you, till it seems as though you could not hold on a minute longer, never give up then, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn. quoted by Og Mandino.
Now, if the principle of toleration were once admitted into classical education --if it were admitted that the great object is to read and enjoy a language, and the stress of the teaching were placed on the few things absolutely essential to this result, if the tortoise were allowed time to creep, and the bird permitted to fly, and the fish to swim, towards the enchanted and divine sources of Helicon --all might in their own way arrive there, and rejoice in its flowers, its beauty, and its coolness.
Where painting is weakest, namely, in the expression of the highest moral and spiritual ideas, there music is sublimely strong.
I did not write it. God wrote it. I merely did his dictation.
Home is a place not only of strong affections, but of entire unreserved it is life's undress rehearsal, its backroom, its dressing room, from which we go forth to more careful and guarded intercourse, leaving behind . . . cast-off and everyday clothing.
No one is so thoroughly superstitious as the godless man.
To be really great in little things, to be truly noble and heroic in the insipid details of everyday life, is a virtue so rare as to be worthy of canonization.
I would not attack the faith of a heathen without being sure I had a better one to put in its place.
The past, the present and the future are really one: they are today.
Many a humble soul will be amazed to find that the seed it sowed in weakness, in the dust of daily life, has blossomed into immortal flowers under the eye of the Lord.
Friendships are discovered rather than made.
Virginia Woolf - Victor Hugo - Upton Sinclair - Tertullian - Salvatore Quasimodo - Robert Fitzgerald - Michael Crichton - Jules Verne - Jackie Collins - Charles Bukowski