Grant us a common faith that man shall know bread and peacethat he shall know justice and righteousness, freedom and security, an equal opportunity and an equal chance to do his best not only in our own lands, but throughout the world. And in that faith let us march toward the clean world our hands can make.
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Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word! Give back my book and take my kiss instead. Was it my enemy or my friend I heard, What a big book for such a little head! Come, I will show you now my newest hat, And you may watch me purse my mouth and prink! Oh, I shall love you still, and all of that. I never again shall tell you what I think. I shall be sweet and crafty, soft and sly; You will not catch me reading any more: I shall be called a wife to pattern by; And some day when you knock and push the door, Some sane day, not too bright and not too stormy, I shall be gone, and you may whistle for me.
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April comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
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let geese Gabble and hiss, but heroes seek release From dusty bondage into luminous air.
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Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;...
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Its a Story they tell in the border country, where Massachusetts joins Vermont and New Hampshire. Yes, Danl Websters deador, at least, they buried him. But every time theres a thunderstorm around Marshfield, they say you can hear his rolling voice in the hollows of the sky. And they say that if you go to his grave and speak loud and clear, Danl WebsterDanl Webster! the groundll begin to shiver and the trees begin to shake. And after a while youll hear a deep voice saying, Neighbor, how stands the Union? Then you better answer the Union stands as she stood, rock-bottomed and copper-sheathed, one and indivisible, or hes liable to rear right out of the ground. At least, thats what I was told when I was a youngster.
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Soar, eat ether, see what has never been seen depart, be lost, but climb.
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Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling into at night. I miss you like hell.
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Death devours all lovely things; Lesbia with her sparrow Shares the darkness—presently Every bed is narrow.
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How strange a thing is death, bringing to his knees, bringing to his antlers/The buck in the snow.
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I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.
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My candle burns at both ends It will not last the night But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends - It gives a lovely light.
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this wonder fled, Altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost. Nor shall my love avail you in your hour.
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Please give me some good advice in your next letter. I promise not to follow it.
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But not the first Illusion, the new earth,The march upon the solitary fire,The casting of the dice of death and birthAgainst a giant, for a blind desire,The stream uncrossed, the promise still untried,The metal sleeping in the mountainside.
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Soar, eat ether, see what has never been seen; depart, be lost, but climb.
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If one feels the need of something grand, something infinite, something that makes one feel aware of God, one need not go far to find it. I think that I see something deeper, more infinite, more eternal than the ocean in the expression of the eyes of a little baby when it wakes in the morning and coos or laughs because it sees the sun shining on its cradle.
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A person who publishes a book appears willfully in public with his pants down.
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God, I can push the grass apart and lay my finger on Thy heart.
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It's not love's going hurts my days But that it went in little ways.
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It's not true that life is one damn thing after another it is one damn thing over and over.
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Set the foot down with distrust on the crust of the world -- it is thin.
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Sweet sounds, oh, beautiful music, do not cease! Reject me not into the world again....
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My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends -
It gives a lovely light.
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My candle burns at both ends It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends - It gives a lovely light.
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Life in itself Is nothing,...
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Honesty rare as a man without self-pity, kinders as large and plain as a prairie wind.
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Pity me that the heart is slow to learn What the swift mind beholds at every turn.
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Life is not lost by dying; life is lost minute by minute, day by dragging day, in all the thousand small uncaring ways.
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America, meaning mostly the United States, is not an easy concept to comprehend. It may be appropriate that it was discovered by a Genoese sailor, in the service of the Spanish crown, looking for some place else and that, for the next half-century, it was treated as a geological impediment to be gotten through or around in order to reach some far more profitable other side.
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