Round about what is, lies a whole mysterious world of might be, a psychological romance of possibilities and things that do not happen.
Let us, then, be what we are; speak what we think; and in all things keep ourselves loyal to truth.
The sentence of the first murderer was pronounced by the Supreme Judge of the universe. Was it death? No, it was life. 'A fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth'; and 'Whosoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold.
Then followed that beautiful season... Summer.... Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.
I stay a little longer, as one stays, to cover up the embers that still burn.
The setting of a great hope is like the setting of the sun. The brightness of our life is gone.
Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike.
The moon is hidden behind a cloud... On the leaves is a sound of falling rain... No other sounds than these I hear; The hour of midnight must be near... So many ghosts, and forms of fright, Have started from their graves to-night, They have driven sleep from mine eyes away: I will go down to the chapel and pray.
I am more afraid of deserving criticism than of receiving it. I stand in awe of my own opinion. The secret demerits of which we alone, perhaps, are conscious, are often more difficult to bear than those which have been publicly censured in us, and thus in some degree atoned for.
He spoke well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.
Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again.
You would attain to the divine perfection.
Like a French poem is life; being only perfect in structure when with the masculine rhymes mingled the feminine are.
I heard the trailing garments of the Night Sweep through her marble halls! I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light From the celestial walls! I felt her presence, by its spell of might, Stoop o'er me from above; The calm, majestic presence of the Night, As of the one I love.
With many readers, brilliancy of style passes for affluence of thought; they mistake buttercups in the grass for immeasurable gold mines under ground.
A boy's will is the wind's will, and the thought's of youth are long, long thoughhts
Ah, yes, the sea is still and deep, All things within its bosom sleep! A single step, and all is o'er, A plunge, a bubble, and no more.
Sculpture is more than painting. It is greater To raise the dead to life than to create Phantoms that seem to live.
But the good deed, through the ages Living in historic pages, Brighter grows and gleams immortal, Unconsumed by moth or rust.
I will be a man among men; and no longer a dreamer among shadows. Henceforth be mine a life of action and reality! I will work in my own sphere, nor wish it other than it is. This alone is health and happiness.
The tragic element in poetry is like Saturn in alchemy, the Malevolent, the Destroyer of Nature ; but without it no true Aurum Potabile, or Elixir of Life, can be made.
Some poems are like the Centaurs--a mingling of man and beast, and begotten of Ixion on a cloud.
It is curious to note the old sea-margins of human thought! Each subsiding century reveals some new mystery; we build where monsters used to hide themselves.
Make not thyself the judge of any man.
And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters
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