Life is the game that must be played.
Two kinds of gratitude: The sudden kind we feel for what we take; the larger kind we feel for what we give.
I shall have more to say when I am dead.
And thus we all are nighing The truth we fear to know: Death will end our crying For friends that come and go.
For when a woman is left too much alone, sooner or later she begins to think; and no man knows what then she may discover.
Your Dollar is your only Word, / The wrath of it your only fear. / You build it altars tall enough / To make you see, but your are blind; / You cannot leave it long enough / To look before you or behind.
Shake the tree of life itself and bring down fruits unheard of.
I cannot find my way: there is no star
In all the shrouded heavens anywhere
Pity is like a knife, sometimes, and it may pierce one who employs it more shrewdly than the victim it would save.
The world is a kind of spiritual kindergarten where millions of bewildered infants are trying to spell "God" with the wrong blocks.
Language that tells us, through a more or less emotional reaction,
something that can not be said.
seizing the swift logic of a woman,
Curse God and die.
I don't say what God is, but a name That somehow answers us when we are driven To feel and think how little we have to do With what we are.
Ah, when shall come love's courage to be strong!
Tell me, O Lord--tell me, O Lord, how long
Are we to keep Christ writhing on the cross!
Poets and kings are but the clerks of Time,
Tiering the same dull webs of discontent,
Clipping the same sad alnage of the years.
I have been reading the Old Testament, a most bloodthirsty and perilous book for the young. Jehovah is beyond doubt the worst character in fiction.
To some will come a time when change itself is beauty, if not heaven.
Do you hear the children singing?
I am living on hope and faith ... a pretty good diet when the mind will receive them.
Were it not for love, Poor life would be a ship not worth launching.
Love must have wings to fly away from love, And to fly back again.
I mean you last as long as lies.
The stillness of October gold
Went out like beauty from a face.
The typical entrepreneur is no longer the bold and tireless man of Marshall, or the sly and rapacious Moneybags of Marx, but a mass of inert shareholders, indistinguishable from rentiers, who employ salaried managers to run their concerns.
I wonder more and more just where I may have come out if I had never seen Harvard Square.
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