A willing heart adds feather to the heel.
A woman is seldom roused to great and courageous exertion but when something most dear to her is in immediate danger.
If my heart were not light, I would die.
I wish I were with some of the wild people that run in the woods, and know nothing about accomplishments!
Pampered vanity is a better thing perhaps than starved pride.
To struggle when hope is banished! To live when life's salt is gone! To dwell in a dream that's vanished! To endure, and go calmly on! The brave man is not he who feels no fear, For that were stupid and irrational; But he, whose noble soul its fear subdues, And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.
This will be triumph! This will be happiness! Yea, that very thing, happiness, which I have been pursuing all my life, and have never yet overtaken.
Time never bears such moments on his wing as when he flies too swiftly to be marked.
Heaven often smites in mercy, even when the blow is severest.
Half-uttered praise is to the curious mind, as to the eye half-veiled beauty is, more precious than the whole.
She who only finds her self-esteem In others' admiration, begs an alms; Depends on others for her daily food, And is the very servant of her slaves; Tho' oftentimes, in a fantastic hour, O'er men she may a childish pow'r exert, Which not ennobles but degrades her state.
Me care for te laws when te laws care for me.
The bliss even of a moment still is bliss.
Busy work brings after ease; Ease brings sport and sport brings rest; For young and old, of all degrees, The mingled lot is best.
I have seen the day, when, if a man made himself ridiculous, the world would laugh at him. But now, everything that is mean, disgusting, and absurd, pleases them but so much the better!
It is so seldom that a young fellow has any inclination for the company of an old man. . .
But dreams full oft are found of real events The form and shadows.
Oh swiftly glides the bonnie boat, Just parted from the shore, And to the fisher's chorus-note Soft moves the dipping oar.
Pride is a fault that great men blush not to own: it is the ennobled offspring of self-love; though, it must be confessed, grave and pompous vanity, Iike a fat plebeian in a rove of office, does very often assume its name.
But woman's grief is like a summer storm, Short as it violent is.
Still on it creeps, Each little moment at another's heels, Till hours, days, years, and ages are made up Of such small parts as these, and men look back Worn and bewilder'd, wondering how it is.
He that will not give some portion of his ease, his blood, his wealth, for other's good, is a poor, frozen churl.
I can bear scorpion's stings, tread fields of fire, in frozen gulfs of cold eternal lie, be tossed aloft through tracts of endless void, but cannot live in shame.
O lovely Sisters! is it true That they are all inspired by you, And write by inward magic charm'd, And high enthusiasm warm'd?
My day is closed! the gloom of night is come! a hopeless darkness settles over my fate.
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