Happiness is not a matter of events; it depends upon the tides of the mind.
We talk of sunshine and moonshine, but not of cloud-shine, which is yet one of the illuminations of our skies. A shining cloud is one of the most majestic of all secondary lights.
There is nothing in the world more peaceful than apple - leaves with an early moon.
I come from nothing: but from where come the undying thoughts I bear?
The true colour of life is the colour of the body, the colour of the covered red, the implicit and not explicit red of the living heart and the pulses. It is the modest colour of the unpublished blood.
There is something very cheerful and courageous in the setting-out of a child on a journey of speech with so small baggage and with so much confidence.
recurrence is sure. What the mind suffered last week, or last year, it does not suffer now; but it will suffer again next week or next year. Happiness is not a matter of events; it depends upon the tides of the mind.
No mirror keeps its glances.
If there is a look of human eyes that tells of perpetual loneliness, so there is also the familiar look that is the sign of perpetual crowds.
The sense of humor has other things to do than to make itself conspicuous in the act of laughter.
The eyelids confess, and reject, and refuse to reject. They have expressed all things ever since man was man. And they express so much by seeming to hide or to reveal that which indeed expresses nothing. For there is no message from the eye. It has direction, it moves, in the service of the sense of sight; it receives the messages of the world. But expression is outward, and the eye has it not. There are no windows of the soul, there are only curtains.
Our fathers valued change for the sake of its results; we value it in the act.
Red has been praised for its nobility of the color of life. But the true color of life is not red. Red is the color of violence, or of life broken open, edited, and published. Or if red is indeed the color of life, it is so only on condition that it is not seen. Once fully visible, red is the color of life violated, and in the act of betrayal and of waste.
She walks--the lady of my delight-- A sheperdess of sheep. Her flocks are thoughts. She keeps them white; She guards them from the steep. She feeds them on the fragrant height, And folds them in for sleep.
Spirit of place! It is for this we travel, to surprise its subtlety; and where it is a strong and dominant angel, that place, seen once, abides entire in the memory with all its own accidents, its habits, its breath, its name.
From the shaken tower A flock of bells take flight, And go with the hour.
Tender, too, is the silence of human feet. You have but to pass a season amongst the barefooted to find that man, who, shod, makes so much ado, is naturally as silent as snow.
O spring, I know thee! Seek for sweet surprise / In the young children's eyes. / But I have learnt the years, and know the yet / Leaf-folded violet.
the feet should have more of the acquaintance of earth, and know more of flowers, freshness, cool brooks, wild thyme, and salt sand than does anything else about us. ... It is only the entirely unshod that have lively feet.
Assuredly it would be a pity if laughter should ever become, like rhetoric and the arts, a habit.
Solitude is separate experience.
A wall is the safeguard of simplicity.
Spring and autumn are inconsiderable events in a landscape compared with the shadows of a cloud.
If life is not always poetical, it is at least metrical.
It is easy to replace man, and it will take no great time, when Nature has lapsed, to replace Nature.
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