The warm sun kissed the earthTo consecrate thy birth,And from his close embraceThy radiant faceSprang into sight,A blossoming delight.
we have these instincts which defy all our wisdom and for which we never can frame any laws. ... They are powers which are imperfectly developed in this life, but one cannot help the thought that the mystery of this world may be the commonplace of the next.
My dear father; my dear friend; the best and wisest man I ever knew, who taught me many lessons and showed me many things as we went together along the country by-ways.
God would not give us the same talent if what were right for men were wrong for women.
Life was resumed, and anxious living blew away as if it had not been. I could not breathe deep enough or long enough. It was a return to happiness.
So we die before our own eyes; so we see some chapters of our lives come to their natural end.
Satisfaction, even after one has dined well, is not so interesting and eager a feeling as hunger.
if you don't keep and guard and mature your force, and above all, have time and quiet to perfect your work, you will be writing things not much better than you did five years ago. ... you must write to the human heart, the great consciousness that all humanity goes to make up. Otherwise what might be strength in a writer is only crudeness, and what might be insight is only observation; sentimemnt falls to sentimentality - you can write about life, but never write life itself.
There's some herb that's good for everybody, except for them that thinks they're sick when they ain't.
Wrecked on the lee shore of age.
Tain't worthwhile to wear a day all out before it comes.
Such a nice day - out all day up in the Carter Notch direction, trout-fishing, with the long drive there and the long drive home again in time for supper. It was a lovely brook and I caught seven good trout and one small one - which eight trout-persons you should have for your breakfast if only you were near enough. It was not alone the fishing, but the delightful loneliness and being out of doors.
A lean sorrow is hardest to bear.
There is something out of gear about graded schools and all that. Memory is developed at the expense of what in general we are pleased to call thought and character.
There was a patient look on the old man's face, as if the world were a great mistake and he had nobody with whom to speak his own language or find companionship.
In these days the young folks is all copy-cats, 'fraid to death they won't be all just alike; as for the old folks, they pray for the advantage o' bein' a little different.
The old poets little knew what comfort they could be to a man.
You never get over bein' a child long's you have a mother to go to.
Conversation's got to have some root in the past, or else you've got to explain every remark you make, an' it wears a person out.
Your patience may have long to wait,Whether in little things or great,But all good luck, you soon will learn,Must come to those who nobly earn.Who hunts the hay-field overWill find the four-leaved clover.
Don't scatter your fire! You are a prose writer: stick to your own tool!
my friends plunged into a borderless sea of reminiscences and personal news.
The thing that teases the mind over and over for years, and at last gets itself put down rightly on paper - whether little or great, it belongs to Literature.
It is not often given in a noisy world to come to the places of great grief and silence.
It is a splendid thing to have the use of any gift of God. It isn't for us to choose again, or wonder and dispute, but just work in our own places, and leave the rest to God.
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