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It Is The Greatest Of All Mistakes To Begin Life With The Expectation That It Is Going To Be Easy, Or With The Wish To Have It So.

-Lucy Larcom

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It Is The Greatest

Lucy Larcom

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It Is The Greatest Of All Mistakes To Begin Life With The Expectation That It Is Going To Be Easy, Or With The Wish To Have It So.

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A Friend Is A Beloved Mystery; Dearest Always Because He Is Not Ourself, And Has Something In Him Which It Is Impossible For Us To Fathom. If It Were Not So, Friendship Would Lose Its Chief Zest.

My 'must-have' Was Poetry. From The First, Life Meant That To Me. And, Fortunately, Poetry Is Not Purchasable Material, But An Atmosphere In Which Every Life May Expand. I Found It Everywhere About Me.

I Remember How Beautiful The Merrimac Looked To Me In Childhood, The First True River I Ever Knew; It Opened Upon My Sight And Wound Its Way Through My Heart Like A Dream Realized; Its Harebells, Its Rocks, And Its Rapids, Are Far More Fixed In My Memory Than Anything About The Sea.

Whether Rich Or Poor, A Home Is Not A Home Unless The Roots Of Love Are Ever Striking Deeper Through The Crust Of The Earthly And The Conventional, Into The Very Realities Of Being, Not Consciously Always; Seldom, Perhaps; The Simplicity Of Loving Grows By Living Simply Near Nature And God.

I Never Thought That The Possession Of Money Would Make Me Feel Rich: It Often Does Seem To Have An Opposite Effect. But Then, I Have Never Had The Opportunity Of Knowing, By Experience, How It Does Make One Feel. It Is Something To Have Been Spared The Responsibility Of Taking Charge Of The Lord's Silver And Gold.

He Who Plants A Tree, Plants A Hope.

There Is Something In The Place Where We Were Born That Holds Us Always By The Heart-strings.

A Drop Of Water, If It Could Write Out Its Own History, Would Explain The Universe To Us.

Let Us Not Depreciate Earth. There Is No Atom In It But Is Alive And Astir In The All-penetrating Splendor Of God. From The Infinitesimal To The Infinite, Everything Is Striving To Express The Thought Of His Presence With Which It Overflows.

When April Steps Aside For May, Like Diamonds All The Rain-drops Glisten; Fresh Violets Open Every Day: To Some New Bird Each Hour We Listen.

To Different Minds, Poetry May Present Different Phases. To Me, The Reverent Faith Of The People I Lived Among, And Their Faithful Everyday Living, Was Poetry; Blossoms And Trees And Blue Shies Were Poetry. God Himself Was Poetry.

It Is The Greatest Of All Mistakes To Begin Life With The Expectation That It Is Going To Be Easy, Or With The Wish To Have It So.

Tailor's Work--the Finishing Of Men's Outside Garments--was The "trade" Learned Most Frequently By Women In [the 1820s And 1830s],and One Or More Of My Older Sisters Worked At It; I Think It Must Have Been At Home, For I Somehow Or Somewhere Got The Idea, While I Was A Small Child, That The Chief End Of Woman Was To Make Clothing For Mankind.

The New Hampshire Girls Who Came To Lowell Were Descendants Of The Sturdy Backwoodsmen Who Settled That State Scarcely A Hundred Years Before.... They Were Earnest And Capable; Ready To Undertake Anything That Was Worth Doing. My Dreamy, Indolent Nature Was Shamed Into Activity Among Them. They Gave Me A Larger, Firmer Ideal Of Womanhood.

Life Hangs As Nothing In The Scale Against Dear Liberty!

The Soul, Cramped Among The Petty Vexations Of Earth, Needs To Keep Its Windows Constantly Open To The Invigorating Air Of Large And Free Ideas: And What Thought Is So Grand As That Of An Ever-present God, In Whom All That Is Vital In Humanity Breathes And Grows?

God Be Thanked For The Thinkers Of Good And Noble Thoughts! It Wakes Up All The Best In Ourselves, To Come Into Close Contact With Others Greater And Better In Every Way Than We Are.

I Am Willing To Make Any Part Of My Life Public, If It Will Help Others.

We Might All Place Ourselves In One Of Two Ranks The Women Who Do Something, And The Women Who Do Nothing; The First Being Of Course The Only Creditable Place To Occupy.

Every True Friend Is A Glimpse Of God.

Like A Plant That Starts Up In Showers And Sunshine And Does Not Know Which Has Best Helped It To Grow, It Is Difficult To Say Whether The Hard Things Or The Pleasant Things Did Me The Most Good.

A Complete Autobiography Would Indeed Be A Picture Of The Outer And Inner Universe Photographed Upon One Little Life's Consciousness. For Does Not The Whole World, Seen And Unseen, Go To The Making Up Of Every Human Being?

Because Its Myriad Glimmering Plumes Like A Great Army's Stir And Wave; Because Its Golden Billows Blooms, The Poor Man's Barren Walks To Lave: Because Its Sun-shaped Blossoms Show How Souls Receive The Light Of God, And Unto Earth Give Back That Glow I Thank Him For The Goldenrod.

The True Idea Of A Church Has Not Yet Been Shown The World, A Visible Church, I Mean, Unless It Was In The Very Earliest Times; Yes, The Twelve Disciples Bound To Their Lord In Love, To Do His Work Forever, That Was A Church, A Christian Family.

I Regard A Love For Poetry As One Of The Most Needful And Helpful Elements In The Life-outfit Of A Human Being. It Was The Greatest Of Blessings To Me, In The Long Days Of Toil To Which I Was Shut In Much Earlier Than Most Young Girls Are, That The Poetry I Held In My Memory Breathed Its Enchanted Atmosphere Through Me And Around Me, And Touched Even Dull Drudgery With Its Sunshine.

A Man May Make A Misanthrope Of Himself, But He Is Never One By Nature.

Whatever With The Past Has Gone, The Best Is Always Yet To Come.

Many Kinds Of Fruit Grow Upon The Tree Of Life, But None So Sweet As Friendship; As With The Orange Tree Its Blossoms And Fruit Appear At The Same Time, Full Of Refreshment For Sense And For Soul.

No One Can Feel More Gratefully The Charm Of Noble Scenery, Or The Refreshment Of Escape Into The Unspoiled Solitudes Of Nature, Than The Laborer At Some Close In-door Employment.

The Religion Of Our Fathers Overhung Us Children Like The Shadow Of A Mighty Tree Against The Trunk Of Which We Rested, While We Looked Up In Wonder Through The Great Boughs That Half Hid And Half Revealed The Sky. Some Of The Boughs Were Already Decaying, So That Perhaps We Began To See A Little More Of The Sky Than Our Elders; But The Tree Was Sound At Its Heart.

Labor, In Itself, Is Neither Elevating Or Otherwise. It Is The Laborer's Privilege To Ennoble His Work By The Aim With Which He Undertakes It, And By The Enthusiasm And Faithfulness He Puts Into It.

I Defied The Machinery To Make Me Its Slave. Its Incessant Discords Could Not Drown The Music Of My Thoughts If I Would Let Them Fly High Enough.

The First Real Unhappiness I Remember To Have Felt Was When Some One Told Me, One Day, That I Did Not Love God. I Insisted, Almost Tearfully, That I Did; But I Was Told That If I Did Truly Love Him I Should Always Be Good. I Knew I Was Not That, And The Feeling Of Sudden Orphanage Came Over Me Like A Bewildering Cloud.

Our Relatives Form The Natural Setting Of Our Childhood. We Understand Ourselves Best And Are Best Understood By Others Through The Persons Who Came Nearest To Us In Our Earliest Years.

The Land Is Dearer For The Sea, The Ocean For The Shore.

A Journal Of The 'subjective' Kind I Have Always Thought Foolish, As Nurturing A Morbid Self -consciousness In The Writer; And Yet, Alone So Much As I Am, It Is Well To Have Some Sort Of A Ventilator From The Interior.

What Is The Meaning Of 'gossip?' Doesn't It Originate With Sympathy, An Interest In One's Neighbor, Degenerating Into Idle Curiosity And Love Of Tattling? Which Is Worse, This Habit, Or Keeping One's Self So Absorbed Intellectually As To Forget The Sufferings And Cares Of Others, To Lose Sympathy Through Having Too Much To Think About?

Whatever Science And Philosophy May Do For Mankind, The World Can Never Outgrow Its Need Of The Simplicity That Is In Christ.

These Blossoms, Gathered In Familiar Paths, With Dear Companions Now Passed Out Of Sight, Shall Not Be Laid Upon Their Graves. They Live, Since Love Is Deathless. Pleasure Now Nor Pride Is Theirs In Mortal Wise, But Hallowing Thoughts Will Meet The Offering, Of So Little Worth, Wanting The Benison Death Has Made Divine.

O Mariner-soul, Thy Quest Is But Begun, There Are New Worlds Forever To Be Won.

If The World 's A Vale Of Tears, Smile, Till Rainbows Span It!

Every Phase Of Our Life Belongs To Us. The Moon Does Not, Except In Appearance, Lose Her First Thin, Luminous Curve, Nor Her Silvery Crescent, In Rounding To Her Full. The Woman Is Still Both Child And Girl, In The Completeness Of Womanly Character.

Sometimes It Seems To Me That God 's Way Of Dealing With Me Is Not To Let Me See Much Of My Friends, Those Who Are Most To Me In The Spiritual Life, Lest I Should Forget That The Invisible Bond Is The Only Reality. That Is The Only Way I Can Reconcile Myself To The Inevitable Separations Of Life And Death.

It Is A Conquest When We Can Lift Ourselves Above The Annoyances Of Circumstances Over Which We Have No Control; But It Is A Greater Victory When We Can Make Those Circumstances Our Helpers,--when We Can Appreciate The Good There Is In Them. It Has Often Seemed To Me As If Life Stood Beside Me, Looking Me In The Face, And Saying, "child, You Must Learn To Like Me In The Form In Which You See Me, Before I Can Offer Myself To You In Any Other Aspect.

It Is One Of The Most Beautiful Facts In This Human Existence Of Ours, That We Remember The Earliest And Freshest Part Of It Most Vividly. Doubtless It Was Meant That Our Childhood Should Live On In Us Forever.

The Peach-bud Glows, The Wild Bee Hums, And Wind-flowers Wave In Graceful Gladness.

Those Who Plant Trees Plant Hope.

A Tattered Copy Of Johnson's Large Dictionary Was A Great Delight To Me, On Account Of The Specimens Of English Versifications Which I Found In The Introduction. I Learned Them As If They Were So Many Poems. I Used To Keep This Old Volume Close To My Pillow; And I Amused Myself When I Awoke In The Morning By Reciting Its Jingling Contrasts Of Iambic And Trochaic And Dactylic Metre, And Thinking What A Charming Occupation It Must Be To "make Up" Verses.

If An Apple Blossom Or A Ripe Apple Could Tell Its Own Story, It Would Be, Still More Than Its Own, The Story Of The Sunshine That Smiled Upon It, Of The Winds That Whispered To It, Of The Birds That Sang Around It, Of The Storms That Visited It, And Of The Motherly Tree That Held It And Fed It Until Its Petals Were Unfolded And Its Form Developed.

The Curse Of Covetousness Is That It Destroys Manhood By Substituting Money For Character.

The Whole World Of Thought Lay Unexplored Before Me, - A World Of Which I Had Already Caught Large And Tempting Glimpses.

Girls Especially Are Fond Of Exchanging Confidences With Those Whom They Think They Can Trust; It Is One Of The Most Charming Traits Of A Simple, Earnest-hearted Girlhood, And They Are The Happiest Women Who Never Lose It Entirely.

In The Older Times It Was Seldom Said To Little Girls, As It Always Has Been Said To Boys, That They Ought To Have Some Definite Plan, While They Were Children, What To Be And Do When They Were Grown Up. There Was Usually But One Path Open Before Them, To Become Good Wives And Housekeepers. And The Ambition Of Most Girls Was To Follow Their Mothers' Footsteps In This Direction; A Natural And Laudable Ambition. But Girls, As Well As Boys, Must Often Have Been Conscious Of Their Own Peculiar Capabilities,--must Have Desired To Cultivate And Make Use Of Their Individual Powers.

From The First Opening Of Our Eyes, It Is The Light That Attracts Us. We Clutch Aimlessly With Our Baby Fingers At The Gossamer-motes In The Sunbeam, And We Die Reaching Out After An Ineffable Blending Of Earthly And Heavenly Beauty Which We Shall Never Fully Comprehend.

We Were Not Meant To Mask Ourselves Before Our Fellow-beings, But To Be, Through Our Human Forms, True And Clear Utterances Of The Spirit Within. Since God Gave Us These Bodies, They Must Have Been Given Us As Guides To Him And Revealers Of Him.

If The World Seems Cold To You, Kindle Fires To Warm It.

Everything In Nature Has Its Own Intrinsic Charm, As The Work Of Its Creator's Hand; But The Chief Beauty Of The Whole Lies In Its Suggested Relations To Humanity. Things Announce And Wait For Persons. The House Would Not Have Been Thus Beautifully Built And Furnished, Except For An Expected Tenant.

Some Of Us Must Wait For The Best Human Gifts Until We Come To Heavenly Places. Our Natural Desire For Musical Utterance Is Perhaps A Prophecy That In A Perfect World We Shall All Know How To Sing.

I Believe The Best Poetry Of Our Times Is Growing Too Artistic; The Study Is Too Visible. If Freedom And Naturalness Are Lost Out Of Poetry, Everything Worth Having Is Lost.

I Learned What Education Really Is: The Penetrating Deeper And Rising Higher Into Life, As Well As Making Continually Wider Explorations; The Rounding Of The Whole Human Being Out Of Its Nebulous Elements Into Form, As Planets And Suns Are Rounded, Until They Give Out Safe And Steady Light. This Makes The Process A Infinite One, Not Possible To Be Completed At Any School.

I Don't Own An Inch Of Land, But All I See Is Mine.

Religion Is Life Inspired By Heavenly Love; And Life Is Something Fresh And Cheerful And Vigorous.

The Children With The Streamlets Sing, When April Stops At Last Her Weeping; And Every Happy Growing Thing Laughs Like A Babe Just Roused From Sleeping.

The Beauty Of Work Depends Upon The Way We Meet It — Whether We Arm Ourselves Each Morning To Attack It As An Enemy That Must Be Vanquished Before Night Comes, Or Whether We Open Our Eyes With The Sunrise To Welcome It As An Approaching Friend.

Whoever Claims To Understand Another Person Completely, Is Either Entirely Ignorant Of Himself, Or Else Has A Nature So Small That He Can Measure It Easily, And Supposes It To Be The Standard Of Every Other Nature.

To Her Bier Comes The Year Not With Weeping And Distress, As Mortals Do, But, To Guide Her Way To It, All The Trees Have Torches Lit; Blazing Red The Maples Shine The Woodlands Through.

June Falls Asleep Upon Her Bier Of Flowers; In Vain Are Dewdrops Sprinkled O'er Her, In Vain Would Fond Winds Fan Her Back To Life, Her Hours Are Numbered On The Floral Dial.

Thou Hastenest Down Between The Hills To Meet Me At The Road, The Secret Scarcely Lisping Of Thy Beautiful Abode Among The Pines And Mosses Of Yonder Shadowy Height, Where Thou Dost Sparkle Into Song, And Fill The Woods With Light.

One Mistake With Beginners In Writing Is, That They Think It Important To Spin Out Something Long. It Is A Great Deal Better Not To Write More Than A Page Or Two, Unless You Have Something To Say, And Can Write It Correctly.

Rich Or Poor, Every Child Comes Into The World With Some Imperative Need Of Its Own, Which Shapes Its Individuality.

Canst Thou Prophesy, Thou Little Tree, What The Glory Of Thy Boughs Shall Be?

When I Heard That There Were Artists, I Wished I Could Some Time Be One. If I Could Only Make A Rose Bloom On Paper, I Thought I Should Be Happy! Or If I Could At Last Succeed In Drawing The Outline Of Winter-stripped Boughs As I Saw Them Against The Sky, It Seemed To Me That I Should Be Willing To Spend Years In Trying.

Few Parents Are Aware Of The Difficulties That Beset The Minds Of The Little Philosophers And Theologians Who Sit Upon Their Knees Or Play At Their Feet; And Many A Parent Could Not Comprehend The Disturbance, If He Were Aware Of It.

That Larger Vision Is Certain To Make Clear The Value In Our Own Lives Of Service To Others.

Service To Others

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