Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.
The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, And all the sweet serenity of books
For after all, the best thing one can do when it is raining is let it rain.
Music is the universal language of mankind.
Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.
If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.
Every heart has its secret sorrows which the world knows not, and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall
I do not believe anyone can be perfectly well, who has a brain and a heart
My soul is full of longing for the secret of the sea, and the heart of the great ocean sends a thrilling pulse through me.
A torn jacket is soon mended, but hard words bruise the heart of a child.
I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done.
The heights by great men reached and kept were not attained in sudden flight but, they while their companions slept, they were toiling upwards in the night.
Give what you have. To someone, it may be better than you dare to think.
Art is the child of nature in whom we trace the features of the mothers face.
Look not mournfully into the past, it comes not back again. Wisely improve the present, it is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart.
The heart, like the mind, has a memory. And in it are kept the most precious keepsakes.
In character, in manner, in style, in all the things, the supreme excellence is simplicity
And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, and silently steal away.
It takes less time to do a thing right than to explain why you did it wrong.
Talk not of wasted affection; affection never was wasted.
If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it; Every arrow that flies feels the attraction of earth.
There are things of which I may not speak; There are dreams that cannot die; There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, And bring a pallor into the cheek, And a mist before the eye.
Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week.
Perserverence is a great element of success. If you only knock long enough and loud enough at the gate, you are sure to wake up somebody.
As Unto the bow the the cord is , So unto the man is woman; Though she bends him, she obeys him, Though she draws him , yet she follows: Useless each without the other.
Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions.
Ah, Nothing is too late, till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate.
Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.
Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind.
Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time
Love gives itself; it is not bought.
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.
For age is opportunity no less Than youth itself, though in another dress, And as the evening twilight fades away The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.
Glorious indeed is the world of God around us, but more glorious the world of God within us.
Stay, stay at home, my heart and rest; Home-keeping hearts are happiest.
Resolve, and thou art free.
A noble type of good. Heroic womanhood.
Let us, then be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labour and to wait.
The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each tomorrow Find us farther than today.
The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain.
The human voice is the organ of the soul.
Unasked, Unsought, Love gives itself but is not bought
Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all.
It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun
A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
For his heart was in his work, and the heart giveth grace unto every art.
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide.
And when she was good she was very very good. But when she was bad she was horrid.
Youth comes but once in a lifetime
Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you friendship let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest!
Art is long, and Time is fleeting.
Tell me not in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem.
We are all architects of faith, ever living in these walls of time.
Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou are, to dust thou returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
I am weary of your quarrels, Weary of your wars and bloodshed, Weary of your prayers for vengeance, Of your wranglings and dissensions
Believe me, every man has his secret sorrows, which the world knows not; and oftimes we call a man cold when he is only sad.
In the long run men hit only what they aim at.
The story, from beginning to end, I found again in a heart of a friend.
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.
Ye are better than all the ballads That ever were sung or said; For ye are living poems, And all the rest are dead.
The nearer the dawn the darker the night.
The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.
Out of the shdows of night The world rolls into light.
In the elder days of Art, Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part; For the Gods are everywhere
Not in the clamor of the crowded street, Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, But in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.
The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night.
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, our faith triumphant o’er our fears, are all with thee – are all with thee!
The morning pouring everywhere, its golden glory on the air.
Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining
I hear the wind among the trees playing the celestial symphonies.
Great is the art of beginning.
She floats upon the river of his thoughts.
These are the woes of Slaves; They glare from the abyss; They cry, from unknown graves, "We are the Witnesses!
Ah! What would the world be to us If the children were no more? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before.
To charm, to strengthen, and to teach: these are the three great chords of might.
And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever.
Think of your woods and orchards without birds! Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams As in an idiot's brain remembered words Hang empty 'mid the cobwebs of his dreams!
He spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.
The life of man consists not in seeing visions and in dreaming dreams but in active charity and in willing service.
One if by land, two if by sea.
Give what you have. To someone, it may be better than you dare to think.” —
Resolve, and thou art free. But breathe the air Of mountains, and their unapproachable summits Will lift thee to the level of themselves.
Joy, temperance, and repose, slam the door on the doctor's nose.
Straight between them ran the pathway, Never grew the grass upon it
The purpose of that apple tree is to grow a little new wood each year. That is what I plan to do.
Its reward is in the doing, And the rapture of pursuing Is the prize
Think not, because no man sees Such things will remain unseen
Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave.
The rays of happiness, like those of light, are colorless when unbroken.
You judge yourself by what your capable of doing, while others judge you by what you have already done
Each morning sees some task begun, each evening sees it close; Something attempted, something done, has earned a night's repose.
Art is the child of Nature.
Were half the power that fills the world with terror, Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts Given to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals or forts.
Fair was she and young, when in hope began the long journey; Faded was she and old, when in disappointment it ended.
Every arrow that flies feels the pull of the earth.
And oft the blessed time foretells When all men shall be free; And musical, as silver bells, Their falling chains shall be.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught! Thus at the flaming forge of life Our fortunes must be wrought
