There are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret, Spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together |
There are no birds in last year's nest |
There is a Reaper whose name is Death, / And, with his sickle keen, / He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, / And the flowers that grow between. |
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak |
There is not grief that does not speak. |
There is nothing holier in this life of ours than the first consciousness of love, the first fluttering of its silken wings. |
There was a little girl / Who had a little curl / Right in the middle of her forehead; / And when she was good / She was very, very good, / But when she was bad she was horrid. |
Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the world calls illusions |
They who go Feel not the pain of parting; it is they Who stay behind that suffer |
Think not because no man sees, such things will remain unseen. |
Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State! / Sail on, O Union, strong and great! / Humanity with all its fears, / With all the hopes of future years, / Is hanging breathless on thy fate! |
Thought takes man out of servitude, into freedom. |
Thy fate is the common fate of all; Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary. |
Thy fate is the common fate of all; Into each life some rain must fall. |
To be 70 years old is like climbing the Alps. You reach a snow-crowned summit, and see behind you the deep valley stretching miles and miles away, and before you other summits higher and whiter, which you may have strength to climb, or may not. Then |