Much must he toil who serves the Immortal Gods.
As to the pure mind all things are pure, so to the poetic mind all things are poetical.
However things may seem, no evil thing is success and no good thing is failure.
It is true, that it is not at all necessary to love many books, in order to love them much.
Welcome, my old friend, Welcome to a foreign fireside.
The Nile, forever new and old, Among the living and the dead, Its mighty, mystic stream has rolled.
Many have genius, but, wanting art, are forever dumb. The two must go together to form the great poet, painter, or sculptor.
Men of genius are often dull and inert in society; as the blazing meteor, when it descends to earth, is only a stone.
Perhaps there lives some dreamy boy, untaught In schools, some graduate of the field or street, Who shall become a master of art, An admiral sailing the high seas of thought Fearless and first, and steering with his fleet For lands not yet laid down in any chart.
The mind of the scholar, if he would leave it large and liberal, should come in contact with other minds.
In the long run men hit only what they aim at.
Decide not rashly. The decision made Can never be recalled. The gods implore not, Plead not, solicit not; they only offer Choice and occasion, which once being passed Return no more. Dost thou accept the gift?
The counterfeit and counterpart of Nature is reproduced in art.
Perhaps the greatest lesson which the lives of literary men teach us is told in a single word* Wait!
Be noble in every thought And in every deed!
Life is the gift of God, and is divine.
Torrent of light and river of air, Along whose bed the glimmering stars are seen, Like gold and silver sands in some ravine Where mountain streams have left their channels bare!
A handful of red sand from the hot clime Of Arab deserts brought, Within this glass becomes the spy of Time, The minister of Thought.
'Twas Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed trees Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy.
Let us, then, be what we are; speak what we think; and in all things keep ourselves loyal to truth.
Round about what is, lies a whole mysterious world of might be, a psychological romance of possibilities and things that do not happen.
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.
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 stay a little longer, as one stays, to cover up the embers that still burn.
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.
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