Let the dead Past bury its dead!
As the heart is, so is love to the heart. It partakes of its strength or weakness, its health or disease.
For 'tis sweet to stammer one letter Of the Eternal's language; - on earth it is called Forgiveness!
Races, better than we, have leaned on her wavering promise, Having naught else but Hope.
Mercy more becomes a magistrate than the vindictive wrath which men call justice.
Every great poem is in itself limited by necessity, but in its suggestions unlimited and infinite.
Day, like a weary pilgrim, had reached the western gate of heaven, and Evening stooped down to unloose the latchets of his sandal shoon.
How absolute and omnipotent is the silence of night! And yet the stillness seems almost audible! From all the measureless depths of air around us comes a half-sound, a half-whisper, as if we could hear the crumbling and falling away of earth and all created things, in the great miracle of nature, decay and reproduction, ever beginning, never ending,--the gradual lapse and running of the sand in the great hour-glass of Time.
The shadows of the mind are like those of the body. In the morning of life they all lie behind us; at noon we trample them under foot; and in the evening they stretch long, broad, and deepening before us.
A word that has been said may be unsaid-it is but air. But when a deed is done, it cannot be undone, nor can our thoughts reach out to all the mischiefs that may follow.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: