A lie that is half-truth is the darkest of all lies.
Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace;Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,While the stars burn, the moons increase,And the great ages onward roll. Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet. Nothing comes to thee new or strange. Sleep full of rest from head to feet;Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.
I am a part of all that I have met.
...and our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips.
There has fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear; She is coming, my life, my fate; The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;" And the white rose weeps, "She is late;" The larkspur listens, "I hear; I hear;" And the lily whispers, "I wait."
So many worlds, so much to do, so little done, such things to be.
He makes no friend who never made a foe.
Men at most differ as Heaven and Earth, but women, worst and best, as Heaven and Hell.
Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true.
For love reflects the thing beloved.
Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt.
Launch your vessel, And crowd your canvas, And, ere it vanishes Over the margin, After it, follow it, FollowThe Gleam.
The greater man the greater courtesy.
A beam in darkness: let it grow.
Better not to be at all Than not to be noble.
No rock so hard but that a little wave may beat admission in a thousand years.
Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on from point to point. ... Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns. ... Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.
Battering the gates of heaven with the storms of prayer.
Sweet is true love that is given in vain, and sweet is death that takes away pain.
Music that gentlier on the spirit lies, Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes.
Who is wise in love, love most, say least.
There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass.
Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt, And cling to faith beyond the forms of faith; She reels not at the storm of warring words; She brightens at the clash of "Yes" and "No"; She sees the best that glimmers through the worst; She feels the sun is hid for the night; She spies the summer through the winter bud; She tastes the fruit before the blossom falls; She hears the lark within the songless egg; She finds the fountain where they wailed "Mirage!"
And men, whose reason long was blind, From cells of madness unconfined, Oft lose whole years of darker mind.
Tis held that sorrow makes us wise.
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