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What Visionary Tints The Year Puts On, When Falling Leaves Falter Through Motionless Air Or Numbly Cling And Shiver To Be Gone! How Shimmer The Low Flats And Pastures Bare, As With Her Nectar Hebe Autumn Fills The Bowl Between Me And Those Distant Hills, And Smiles And Shakes Abroad Her Misty, Tremulous Hair!

-James Russell Lowell

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What Visionary Tints The

James Russell Lowell

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What Visionary Tints The Year Puts On, When Falling Leaves Falter Through Motionless Air Or Numbly Cling And Shiver To Be Gone! How Shimmer The Low Flats And Pastures Bare, As With Her Nectar Hebe Autumn Fills The Bowl Between Me And Those Distant Hills, And Smiles And Shakes Abroad Her Misty, Tremulous Hair!

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Be Noble! And The Nobleness That Liesin Other Men, Sleeping, But Never Dead,will Rise In Majesty To Meet Thine Own.

Let Us Be Of Good Cheer, However, Remembering That The Misfortunes Hardest To Bear Are Those Which Never Come.

'tis Sorrow Builds The Shining Ladder Up, Whose Golden Rounds Are Our Calamities, Whereon Our Firm Feet Planting, Nearer God The Spirit Climbs, And Hath Its Eyes Unsealed. True It Is That Death's Face Seems Stern And Cold When He Is Sent To Summon Those We Love; But All God's Angels Come To Us Disguised; Sorrow And Sickness, Poverty And Death, One After Another, Lift Their Frowning Masks, And We Behold The Seraph's Face Beneath, All Radiant With The Glory And The Calm Of Having Looked Upon The Front Of God.

The Right Of Individual Property Is No Doubt The Very Corner-stone Of Civilization, As Hitherto Understood; But I Am A Little Impatient Of Being Told That Property Is Entitled To Exceptional Consideration Because It Bears All The Burdens Of The State. It Bears Those, Indeed, Which Can Be Most Easily Borne, But Poverty Pays With Its Person The Chief Expenses Of War, Pestilence, And Famine.

In The Ocean Of Baseness, The Deeper We Get, The Easier The Sinking.

And Blessed Are The Horny Hands Of Toil.

The Child Is Not Mine As The First Was, I Cannot Sing It To Rest, I Cannot Lift It Up Fatherly And Bliss It Upon My Breast; Yet It Lies In My Little One's Cradle And Sits In My Little One's Chair, And The Light Of The Heaven She's Gone To Transfigures Its Golden Hair.

Children Are God's Apostles, Sent Forth, Day By Day, To Preach Of Love, And Hope, And Peace.

Not A Change For The Better In Our Human Housekeeping Has Ever Taken Place That Wise And Good Men Have Not Opposed It-have Not Prophesied That The World Would Wake Up To Find Its Throat Cut In Consequence.

Over Our Manhood Bend The Skies; Against Our Fallen And Traitor Lives The Great Winds Utter Prophecies; With Our Faint Hearts The Mountain Strives, Its Arms Outstretched, The Druid Wood Waits With Its Benedicite And To Our Ages Drowsy Blood Still Shouts The Inspiring Sea.

A Father Of The Church Said That Property Was Theft, Many Centuries Before Proudhon Was Born. Bourdaloue Reaffirmed It. Montesquieu Was The Inventor Of National Workshops And Of The Theory That The State Owed Every Man A Living. Nay, Was Not The Church Herself The First Organized Democracy?

Did Man E'er Live Saw Priest Or Woman Yet Forgive?

Christ Was The First True Democrat That Ever Breathed, As The Old Dramatist Dekkar Said He Was The First True Gentleman.

If I Were Asked What Book Is Better Than A Cheap Book, I Should Answer That There Is One Book Better Than A Cheap Book, - And That Is A Book Honestly Come By.

A Woman's Love Is Mighty, But A Mother's Heart Is Weak, And By Its Weakness Overcomes.

The Thing We Long For, That We Are For One Transcendent Moment.

It Is By Presence Of Mind In Untried Emergencies That The Native Metal Of Man Is Tested.

Presence Of Mind

To Win The Secret Of A Weed's Plain Heart.

The Brain Can Be Easy To Buy, But The Heart Never Comes To Market.

Metaphor Is No Argument, Though It Be Sometimes The Gunpowder To Drive One Home, And Imbed It In The Memory.

Democracy Is That Form Of Society, No Matter What Its Political Classification, In Which Every Man Has A Chance And Knows That He Has It.

We Look At Death Through The Cheap-glazed Windows Of The Flesh, And Believe Him The Monster Which The Flawed And Cracked Glass Represents Him.

Enthusiasm Begets Enthusiasm, Eloquence Produces Conviction For The Moment; But It Is Only By Truth To Nature And The Everlasting Institutions Of Mankind That Those Abiding Influences Are Won That Enlarge From Generation To Generation.

Safe In The Hallowed Quiets Of The Past.

Truth Forever On The Scaffold, Wrong Forever On The Throne,- Yet That Scaffold Sways The Future, And, Behind The Dim Unknown, Standeth God Within The Shadow, Keeping Watch Above His Own.

Not But Wut Abstract War Is Horrid, I Sign To Thet With All My Heart, But Civilysation Doos Git Forrid Sometimes, Upon A Powder-cart.

Aspiration Sees Only One Side Of Every Question; Possession Many.

This Imputation Of Inconsistency Is One To Which Every Sound Politician And Every Honest Thinker Must Sooner Or Later Subject Himself. The Foolish And The Dead Alone Never Change Their Opinion.

Life May Be Given In Many Ways, And Loyalty To Truth Be Sealed As Bravely In The Closet As The Field.

All Thoughtful Men Are Solitary And Original In Themselves.

One Day With Life And Heart Is More Than Time Enough To Find A World.

Reputation Is Only A Candle, Of Wavering And Uncertain Flame, And Easily Blown Out, But It Is The Light By Which The World Looks For And Finds Merit.

The Snow Had Begun In The Gloaming, And Busily All The Night Had Been Heaping Field And Highway With A Silence Deep And White.

Creativity Is Not The Finding Of A Thing, But The Making Something Out Of It After It Is Found.

It Is Not The Insurrections Of Ignorance That Are Dangerous, But The Revolts Of The Intelligence.

Earth's Biggest Country 's Gut Her Soul, An' Risen Up Earth's Greatest Nation.

Beauty Hath No True Glass, Except It Be In The Sweet Privacy Of Loving Eyes.

And The Choice Goes By Forever 'twixt That Darkness And That Light.

That Love For One, From Which There Doth Not Spring Wide Love For All, Is But A Worthless Thing.

Idleness Induces Caprice.

Puritanism, Believing Itself Quick With The Seed Of Religious Liberty, Laid, Without Knowing It, The Egg Of Democracy.

Moral Supremacy Is The Only One That Leaves Monuments, And Not Ruins, Behind It.

Most Men Make The Voyage Of Life As If They Carried Sealed Orders Which They Were Not To Open Till They Were Fairly In Mid-ocean.

Whoever Can Endure Unmixed Delight, Whoever Can Tolerate Music And Painting And Poetry All In One, Whoever Wishes To Be Rid Of Thought And To Let The Busy Anvils Of The Brain Be Silent For A Time, Let Him Read In The "faery Queen."

Some Day The Soft Ideal That We Wooed Confronts Us Fiercely, Foe-beset, Pursued, And Cries Reproachful: Was It Then My Praise, And Not Myself Was Loved? Prove Now Thy Truth; I Claim Of Thee The Promise Of Thy Youth.

Before Man Made Us Citizens, Great Nature Made Us Men.

The Discontent With The Existing Order Of Things Pervaded The Atmosphere, Wherever The Conditions Were Favorable, Long Before Columbus, Seeking The Back Door Of Asia, Found Himself Knocking At The Front Door Of America.

Year By Year, More And More Of The World Gets Disenchanted. Even The Icy Privacy Of The Arctic And Antarctic Circles Is Invaded. We Have Played Jack Horner With Our Earth, Till There Is Never A Plum Left In It.

If The Devil Take A Less Hateful Shape To Us Than To Our Fathers, He Is As Busy With Us As With Them.

Compromise Makes A Good Umbrella, But A Poor Roof.

What Means This Glory Round Our Feet, The Magi Mused, "more Bright Than Morn!" And Voices Chanted Clear And Sweet, "to-day The Prince Of Peace Is Born.

Those Who Love Are But One Step From Heaven.

New Occasions Teach New Duties, Time Makes Ancient Good Uncouth; They Must Upward Still And Onward, Who Would Keep Abreast Of Truth.

Onward And Upward

They Enslave Their Children's Children Who Make Compromise With Sin.

He Mastered Whatever Was Not Worth The Knowing.

The Don Quixote Of One Generation May Live To Hear Himself Called The Savior Of Society By The Next.

Through Aisles Of Long-drawn Centuries My Spirit Walks In Thought.

How Little Inventiveness There Is In Man, Grave Copier Of Copies.

Literature, Properly So Called, Draws Its Sap From The Deep Soil Of Human Nature's Common And Everlasting Sympathies, The Gathered Leaf-mound Of Countless Generations, And Not From Any Top Dressing Capriciously Scattered Over The Surface.

Men Have Their Intellectual Ancestry, And The Likeness Of Some One Of Them Is Forever Unexpectedly Flashing Out In The Features Of A Descendant, It May Be After A Gap Of Several Centuries. In The Parliament Of The Present Every Man Represents A Constituency Of The Past.

All Thoughts That Mold The Age Begin Deep Down Within The Primitive Soul.

Poetry Is Something To Make Us Wiser And Better, By Continually Revealing Those Types Of Beauty And Truth, Which God Has Set In All Men's Souls.

The Very Gnarliest And Hardest Of Hearts Has Some Musical Strings In It; But They Are Tuned Differently In Every One Of Us.

It Is Beginning To Be Doubtful Whether Parliament And Congress Sit In Westminster And Washington, Or In The Editorial Rooms Of The Leading Journals,--so Thoroughly Is Everything Debated Before The Authorized And Responsible Debaters Get On Their Legs.

The First Lesson Of Life Is To Burn Our Own Smoke; That Is, Not To Inflict On Outsiders Our Personal Sorrows And Petty Morbidness, Not To Keep Thinking Of Ourselves As Exceptional Cases.

The Ultimate Result Of Protecting Fools From Their Folly Is To Fill The Planet Full Of Fools.

And What They Dare To Dream Of, Date To Do.

He Who Is Firmly Seated In Authority Soon Learns To Think Security, And Not Progress, The Highest Lesson In Statecraft.

O Reputation! Dearer Far Than Life.

A Profound Common Sense Is The Best Genius For Statesmanship.

Two Meanings Have Our Lightest Fantasies,- One Of The Flesh, And Of The Spirit One.

't Is Heaven Alone That Is Given Away; 't Is Only God May Be Had For The Asking.

It Is Curious How Tyrannical The Habit Of Reading Is...

Violet! Sweet Violet! Thine Eyes Are Full Of Tears; Are They Wet Even Yet With The Thought Of Other Years?

Behind The Dim Unknown, Standeth God With The Shadow, Keeping Watch Above His Own.

Breaking Silence

Reading Chaucer Is Like Brushing Through The Dewy Grass At Sunrise.

Stories Now, To Suit A Public Taste, Must Be Half Epigram, Half Pleasant Vice.

And What Is So Rare As A Day In June? Then, If Ever, Come Perfect Days.

Tiny Salmoneus Of The Air His Mimic Bolts The Firefly Threw.

Compromise Makes A Good Umbrella, But A Poor Roof; It Is Temporary Expedient, Often Wise In Party Politics, Almost Sure To Be Unwise In Statesmanship.

Many Make The Household But Only One The Home.

There Is No Better Ballast For Keeping The Mind Steady On Its Keel, And Saving It From All Risk Of Crankiness, Than Business.

In All Literary History There Is No Such Figure As Dante, No Such Homogeneousness Of Life And Works, Such Loyalty To Ideas, Such Sublime Irrecognition Of The Unessential.

The One Thing Finished In This Hasty World.

Now The Heart Is So Full That A Drop Overfills It; We Are Happy Now Because God Wills It.

If One Waits For The Right Time To Come Before Writing, The Right Time Never Comes.

The Foolish And The Dead Alone Never Change Their Opinions.

There Is A Law Of Neutralization Of Forces, Which Hinders Bodies From Sinking Beyond A Certain Depth In The Sea; But In The Ocean Of Baseness, The Deeper We Get, The Easier The Sinking.

For Humanity Sweeps Onward: Where Today The Martyr Stands, On The Morrow Crouches Judas With The Silver In His Hands; Far In Front The Cross Stands Ready And The Crackling Fagots Burn, While The Hooting Mob Of Yesterday In Silent Awe Return To Glean Up The Scattered Ashes Into History's Golden Urn.

In Life's Small Things Be Resolute And Great To Keep Thy Muscle Trained; Know'st Thou When Fate Thy Measure Takes, Or When She'll Say To Thee, "i Find Thee Worthy; Do This Deed For Me?"

To Have Greatly Dreamed Precludes Low Ends.

Not As All Other Women Are Is She That To My Soul Is Dear; Her Glorious Fancies Come From Far, Beneath The Silver Evening Star, And Yet Her Heart Is Ever Near.

In The Earliest Ages Science Was Poetry, As In The Later Poetry Has Become Science.

Wealth May Be An Excellent Thing, For It Means Power, And It Means Leisure, It Means Liberty.

All That Hath Been Majestical In Life Or Death, Since Time Began, Is Native In The Simple Heart Of All, The Angel Heat Of Man.

It ["the Ancient Mariner"] Is Marvellous In Its Mastery Over That Delightfully Fortuitous Inconsequence That Is The Adamantine Logic Of Dreamland.

Who Speaks The Truth Stabs Falsehood To The Heart.

No Sincere Desire Of Doing Good Need Make An Enemy Of A Single Human Being; That Philanthropy Has Surely A Flaw In It Which Cannot Sympathize With The Oppressor Equally As With The Oppressed.

A Weed Is No More Than A Flower In Disguise.

Tyranny Is Always Weakness

Among The Lessons Taught By The French Revolution, There Is None Sadder Or More Striking Than This--that You May Make Everything Else Out Of The Passions Of Men Except A Political System That Will Work, And That There Is Nothing So Pitilessly And Unconsciously Cruel As Sincerity Formulated Into Dogma.

A Poet Must Need Be Before His Own Age, To Be Even With Posterity

It Is Mediocrity Which Makes Laws And Sets Mantraps And Spring-guns In The Realm Of Free Song, Saying Thus Far Shalt Thou Go And No Further.

But Civlyzation Doos Git Forrid Sometimes Upon A Powder-cart.

Praise Follows Truth Afar Off, And Only Overtakes Her At The Grave; Plausibility Clings To Her Skirts And Holds Her Back Till Then

It Seems To Me That The Bane Of Our Country Is A Profession Of Faith Either With No Basis Of Real Belief, Or With No Proper Examination Of The Grounds On Which The Creed Is Supposed To Rest.

These Pearls Of Thought In Persian Gulfs Were Bred, Each Softly Lucent As A Rounded Moon; The Diver Omar Plucked Them From Their Bed, Fitzgerald Strung Them On An English Thread.

A Great Man Is Made Up Of Qualities That Meet Or Make Great Occasions.

The Intellect Has Only One Failing, Which, To Be Sure, Is A Very Considerable One. It Has No Conscience.

All Share In The Government Of The World Was Denied For Centuries To Perhaps The Ablest, Certainly The Most Tenacious Race That Had Ever Lived In It

To Make The Common Marvelous Is The Test Of Genius.

Folks Never Understand The Folks They Hate.

Where Church And State Are Habitually Associated, It Is Natural That Minds, Even Of A High Order, Should Unconsciously Come To Regard Religion As Only A Subtler Mode Of Police.

Against The Windows The Storm Comes Dashing, Through Tattered Foliage The Hail Tears Crashing, The Blue Lightning Flashes, The Rapid Hail Clashes... The Thunder Is Rumbling And Crashing And Crumbling.

The Course Of A Great Statesman Resembles That Of Navigable Rivers, Avoiding Immovable Obstacles With Noble Bends Of Concession, Seeking The Broad Levels Of Opinion On Which Men Soonest Settle And Longest Dwell, Following And Marking The Almost Imperceptible Slopes Of National Tendency, Yet Always Aiming At Direct Advances, Always Recruited From Sources Nearer Heaven, And Sometimes Bursting Open Paths Of Progress And Fruitful Human Commerce Through What Seem The Eternal Barriers Of Both.

Granting Our Wish Is One Of Fate's Saddest Jokes.

It Is Not A Great Xerxes Army Of Words, But A Compact Greek Ten Thousand That March Safely Down To Posterity.

Things Always Seem Fairer When We Look Back At Them, And It Is Out Of That Inaccessible Tower Of The Past That Longing Leans And Beckons.

Earth Gets Its Price For What Earth Gives Us.

To Me It Seems Not Unreasonable To Find A Re-enforcement Of Optimism, A Renewal Of Courage And Hope, In The Modern Theory That Man Has Mounted To What He Is From The Lowest Step Of Potentiality, Through Toilsome Grades Of Ever-expanding Existence, Even Thought It Have Been By A Spiral Stairway, Mainly Dark Or Dusty, With Loop-holes At Long Intervals Only, And These Granting But A Narrow And One-sided View.

Tis Easy Now For The Heart To Be True As For Grass To Be Green Or Skies To Be Blue-- 'tis The Natural Way Of Living.

Endurance Is The Crowning Quality, And Patience All The Passion Of Great Hearts.

May Is A Pious Fraud Of The Almanac A Ghastly Parody Of Real Spring Shaped Out Of Snow And Breathed With Eastern Wind.

Thank God Every Morning When You Get Up That You Have Something To Do That Day, Which Must Be Done, Whether You Like It Or Not.

Virtue Treads Paths That End Not In The Grave.

Not Only Around Our Infancy Doth Heaven With All Its Splendors Lie; Daily, With Souls That Cringe And Plot, We Sinais Climb And Know It Not.

To Be Young Is Surely The Best, If The Most Precarious, Gift Of Life.

Get But The Truth Once Uttered, And 'tis Like A Star New-born That Drops Into Its Place And Which, Once Circling In Its Placid Round, Not All The Tumult Of The Earth Can Shake.

Truth Always Has A Bewitching Savor Of Newness In It, And Novelty At The First Taste Recalls That Original Sweetness To The Tongue; But Alas For Him Who Would Make The One A Substitute For The Other.

It Was In Making Education Not Only Common To All, But In Some Sense Compulsory On All, That The Destiny Of The Free Republics Of America Was Practically Settled.

The Time Is Ripe, And Rotten-ripe, For Change; Then Let It Come: I Have No Dread Of What Is Called For By The Instinct Of Mankind. Nor Think I That God's World Would Fall Apart Because We Tear A Parchment More Or Less. Truth Is Eternal, But Her Effluence, With Endless Change, Is Fitted To The Hour; Her Mirror Is Turned Forward, To Reflect The Promise Of The Future, Not The Past. I Do Not Fear To Follow Out The Truth.

Freedom Is The Only Law Which Genius Knows.

Ef You Want Peace, The Thing You've Gut To Du Is Jes' To Show You're Up To Fightin', Tu.

Who Is It Needs Such Flawless Shafts As Fate? What Archer Of His Arrows Is So Choice, Or Hits The White So Surely?

Men! Whose Boast It Is That Ye Come Of Fathers Brave And Free, If There Breathe On Earth A Slave, Are Ye Truly Free And Brave?

He Gives Only The Worthless Gold Who Gives From A Sense Of Duty.

It May Be Glorious To Write Thoughts That Shall Glad The Two Or Three High Souls, Like Those Far Stars That Come In Sight Once In A Century.

That Pernicious Sentiment, "our Country, Right Or Wrong."

Time Makes Ancient Good Uncouth.

Onward And Upward

If God Made Poets For Anything, It Was To Keep Alive The Traditions Of The Pure, The Holy, And The Beautiful.

Dear Common Flower, That Grow'st Beside The Way, Fringing The Dusty Road With Harmless Gold, First Pledge Of Blithesome May, Which Children Pluck, And, Full Of Pride Uphold.

Men's Thoughts And Opinions Are In A Great Degree Vassals Of Him Who Invents A New Phrase Or Re-applies An Old Epithet. The Thought Or Feeling A Thousand Times Repeated Becomes His At Last Who Utters It Best.

Old Events Have Modern Meanings; Only That Survives Of Past History Which Finds Kindred In All Hearts And Lives.

Over All Life Broods Poesy, Like The Calm Blue Sky With Its Motherly, Rebuking Face. She Is The Great Reformer, And Where The Love Of Her Is Strong And Healthy, Wickedness And Wrong Cannot Long Prevail.

Taste Is The Next Gift To Genius.

The Better Part Of Every Man's Education Is That Which He Gives Himself.

Stern Men With Empires In Their Brains.

Keats Longed For Fame, But Longed Above All To Deserve It.

It Is The Privilege Of Genius That Life Never Grows Common Place, As It Does For The Rest Of Us.

And But Two Ways Are Offered To Our Will, Toil With Rare Triumph, Ease With Safe Disgrace, The Problem Still For Us And All Of Human Race.

Greatly Begin. Though Thou Have Time, But For A Line, Be That Sublime. Not Failure, But Low Aim Is Crime.

There Is Only One Thing Better Than Tradition And That Is The Original And Eternal Life Out Of Which All Tradition Takes Its Rise.

The Material Of Thought Re-acts Upon The Thought Itself.

Comparative Criticism Teaches Us That Moral And Aesthetic Defects Are More Nearly Related Than Is Commonly Supposed.

Where One Person Shapes Their Life By Precept And Example, There Are A Thousand Who Have Shaped It By Impulse And Circumstances.

Sentiment Is Intellectualized Emotion; Emotion Precipitated, As It Were, In Pretty Crystals By The Fancy.

Every Person Born Into This World Their Work Is Born With Them.

Whatever You May Be Sure Of, Be Sure Of This, That You Are Dreadfully Like Other People.

Democracy Is Nothing More Than An Experiment In Government, More Likely To Succeed In A New Soil, But Likely To Be Tried In All Soils, Which Must Stand Or Fall On Its Own Merits As Others Have Done Before It. For There Is No Trick Of Perpetual Motion In Politics Any More Than In Mechanics.

Who Knows Whither The Clouds Have Fled? In The Unscarred Heaven They Leave No Wake; And The Eyes Forget The Tears They Have Shed, The Heart Forgets Its Sorrow And Ache.

Humbleness Is Always Grace; Always Dignity

Once To Every Man And Nation Comes The Moment To Decide.

Knowing Who You Are

Making One Object, In Outward Or Inward Nature, More Holy To A Single Heart Is Reward Enough For A Life; For The More Sympathies We Gain Or Awaken For What Is Beautiful, By So Much Deeper Will Be Our Sympathy For That Which Is Most Beautiful,--the Human Soul!

O Thou, Whose Days Are Yet All Spring, Faith, Blighted Once, Is Past Retrieving; Experience Is A Dumb, Dead Thing; The Victory's In Believing.

May Is A Pious Fraud Of The Almanac.

It Is Curious For One Who Studies The Action And Reaction Of National Literature On Each Other, To See The Humor Of Swift And Sterne And Fielding, After Filtering Through Richter, Reappear In Carlyle With A Tinge Of Germanism That Makes It Novel, Alien, Or Even Displeasing, As The Case May Be, To The English Mind.

Toward No Crimes Have Men Shown Themselves So Cold- Bloodedly Cruel As In Punishing Differences Of Belief.

My Soul Is Not A Palace Of The Past.

Though Old The Thought And Oft Exprest, Tis His At Last Who Says It Best.

God Does Not Weigh Criminality In Our Scales. We Have One Absolute, With The Seal Of Authority Upon It; And With Us An Ounce Is An Ounce, And A Pound A Pound. God's Measure Is The Heart Of The Offender,--a Balance Which Varies With Every One Of Us, A Balance So Delicate That A Tear Cast In The Other Side May Make The Weight Of Error Kick The Beam.

The Mind Can Weave Itself Warmly In The Cocoon Of Its Own Thoughts, And Dwell A Hermit Anywhere.

Fate Loves The Fearless.

Fortune Is The Rod Of The Weak, And The Staff Of The Brave.

A Nature Wise With Finding In Itself The Types Of All, With Watching From The Dim Verge Of The Time What Things To Be Are Visible In The Gleams Thrown Forward On Them From The Luminous Past, Wise With The History Of Its Own Frail Heart, With Reverence And Sorrow, And With Love, Broad As The World, For Freedom And For Man.

All God's Angels Come To Us Disguised.

We Kind O' Thought Christ Went Agin War An' Pillage.

Freedom Needs All Her Poets; It Is They Who Give Her Aspirations Wings, And To The Wiser Law Of Music Sway Her Wild Imaginings.

Winds Wanders, And Dews Drip Earthward; Rains Fall, Suns Rise And Set; Earth Whirls, And All But To Prosper A Poor Little Violet.

Imagination, Where It Is Truly Creative, Is A Faculty, And Not A Quality; It Looks Before And After, It Gives The Form That Makes All The Parts Work Together Harmoniously Toward A Given End, Its Seat Is In The Higher Reason, And It Is Efficient Only As A Servant Of The Will. Imagination, As It Is Too Often Misunderstood, Is Mere Fantasy, The Image-making Power, Common To All Who Have The Gift Of Dreams.

Our American Republic Will Endure Only As Long As The Ideas Of The Men Who Founded It Continue Dominant.

Wut 's Words To Them Whose Faith An' Truth On War's Red Techstone Rang True Metal; Who Ventered Life An' Love An' Youth For The Gret Prize O' Death In Battle?

Scepticism Commonly Takes Up The Room Left By Defect Of Imagination, And Is The Very Quality Of Mind Most Likely To Seek For Sensual Proof Of Supersensual Things. If One Came From The Dead It Could Not Believe; And Yet It Longs For Such A Witness, And Will Put Up With A Very Dubious One.

The Nunneries Of Silent Nooks, The Murmured Longing Of The Wood.

Not Suffering, But Faint Heart, Is Worst Of Woes.

The Only Faith That Wears Well And Holds Its Color In All Weathers Is That Which Is Woven Of Conviction And Set With The Sharp Mordant Of Experience.

God'll Send The Bill To You.

The Holy Supper Is Kept, Indeed, In Whatso We Share With Anothers Need; Not What We Give, But What We Share, For The Gift Without The Giver Is Bare; Who Gives Himself With His Alms Feeds Three, Himself, His Hungering Neighbor, And Me.

The Future Works Out Great Men's Destinies; The Present Is Enough For Common Souls, Who, Never Looking Forward, Are Indeed Mere Clay Wherein The Footprints Of Their Age Are Petrified Forever.

The Secret Of Force In Writing Lies Not So Much In The Pedigree Of Nouns And Adjectives And Verbs, As In Having Something That You Believe In To Say, And Making The Parts Of Speech Vividly Conscious Of It.

There Is No Bore We Dread Being Left Alone With So Much As Our Own Minds.

Love Lives On, And Hath A Power To Bless When They Who Loved Are Hidden In The Grave.

If We See Light At The End Of The Tunnel, It's The Light Of The Oncoming Train.

The Rich Man's Sons Inherits Cares; The Bank May Break, The Factory Burn, A Breath May Burst His Bubble Shares, And Soft, White Hands Could Hardly Earn A Living That Would Serve His Turn.

History Is Clarified Experience.

Whenever You Have The Kind Of Market That Is Taking Shape Now - A Wildly Volatile One With Big Pricing Discrepancies - It Plays Right Into The Hands Of Managers Who Are Very Focused On Research And Stock Picking.

I Willingly Confess To So Great A Partiality For Trees As Tempts Me To Respect A Man In Exact Proportion To His Respect For Them.

It Is Only By Instigation Of The Wrongs Of Men That What Are Called The Rights Of Man Become Turbulent And Dangerous.

A Stray Hair, By Its Continued Irritation, May Give More Annoyance Than A Smart Blow.

No Price Is Set On The Lavish Summer; June May Be Had By The Poorest Comer.

In Vain We Call Old Notions Fudge, And Bend Our Conscience To Our Dealing; The Ten Commandments Will Not Budge, And Stealing Will Continue Stealing.

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