One thorn of experience is worth a whole wilderness of warning.
|
As life runs on, the road grows strange With faces new,-and near the end The milestones into headstones change, 'Neath every one a friend.
|
Solitude is as needful to the imagination as society is wholesome for the character.
|
But all God's angels come to us disguised...
|
What men prize most is a privilege, even if it be that of chief mourner at a funeral.
|
It is not the insurrections of ignorance that are dangerous, but the revolts of the intelligence.
|
Want gave tongue, and at her howl, Sin awakened with a growl.
|
There is no self-delusion more fatal than that which makes the conscience dreamy with the anodyne of lofty sentiments, while the life is groveling and sensual.
|
There is no good in arguing with the inevitable. The only argument available with an east wind is to put on your overcoat.
|
In the ocean of baseness, the deeper we get, the easier the sinking.
|
Mishaps are like knives, that either serve us or cut us, as we grasp them by the blade or the handle.
|
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.
|
A wise skepticism is the first attribute of a good critic.
|
Truth, after all, wears a different face to everybody, and it would be too tedious to wait till all were agreed.
|
Wealth may be an ancient thing, for it means power, it means leisure, it means liberty.
|
In creating, the only hard thing is to begin a grass blade's no easier to make than an oak.
|
There is no good arguing with the inevitible. The only argument available with an east wind is to put on your overcoat.
|
They are slaves who fear to speak, For the fallen and the weak.
|
We live in oppressive times. We have, as a nation, become our own thought police but instead of calling the process by which we limit our expression of dissent and wonder 'censorship,' we call it 'concern for commercial viability.'
|
Light is the symbol of truth.
|
Democracy gives every man the right to be his own oppressor.
|
They talk about their Pilgrim blood, Their birthright high and holy A mountain-stream that ends in mud Methinks is melancholy.
|
Who knows whither the clouds have fled? In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake,...
|
Blessed are they who have nothing to say and who cannot be persuaded to say it.
|
Where one person shapes their life by precept and example, there are a thousand who have shaped it by impulse and circumstances.
|
A poet must need be before his own age, to be even with posterity.
|
Folks never understand the folks they hate.
|
All the beautiful sentiments in the world weigh less than a single lovely action.
|
It is the rooted instinct in men to admire what is better and more beautiful than themselves.
|
They are slaves who fear to speak,
For the fallen and the weak.
|