Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.

Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you friendship let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest!

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,And our hearts, though stout and brave,Still, like muffled drums, are beatingFuneral marches to the grave.

Sunday is the golden clasp that binds together the volume of the week.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting.

I am weary of your quarrels,Weary of your wars and bloodshed,Weary of your prayers for vengeance,Of your wranglings and dissensions

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;Thy fate is the common fate of all,Into each life some rain must fall

Art is the child of nature in whom we trace the features of the mothers face.

And in despair I bowed my head;”There is no peace on earth,” I said;”For hate is strong,And mocks the songOf peace on earth, good-will to men!”Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:”God is not...

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears, our faith triumphant o’er our fears, are all with thee – are all with thee!

Ye are better than all the balladsThat ever were sung or said;For ye are living poems,And all the rest are dead.

If Spring came but once in a century, instead of once a year, or burst forth with the sound of an earthquake, and not in silence, what wonder and expectation there would be in all...

I do not believe anyone can be perfectly well, who has a brain and a heart

Anon from the castle wallsThe crescent banner falls,And the crowd beholds instead,Like a portent in the sky,Iskander’s banner fly,The Black Eagle with double head;And a shout ascends on high,For men’s souls are tired of the...

Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all.

There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.

Lives of great men all remind usWe can make our lives sublime,And, departing, leave behind usFootprints on the sands of time;Footprints, that perhaps another,Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,Seeing, shall take heart...

Every arrow that flies feels the pull of the earth.

Ah, Nothing is too late, till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate.

And oft the blessed time foretellsWhen all men shall be free;And musical, as silver bells,Their falling chains shall be.

Music is the universal language of mankind.

Kind hearts are the gardens, Kind thoughts are the roots, Kind words are the flowers, Kind deeds are the fruits, Take care of your garden And keep out the weeds, Fill it with sunshine, Kind...

EndymionThe rising moon has hid the stars;Her level rays, like golden bars,Lie on the landscape green,With shadows brown between.And silver white the river gleams,As if Diana, in her dreams,Had dropt her silver bowUpon the meadows...

It is curious to note the old sea-margins of human thought! Each subsiding century reveals some new mystery; we build where monsters used to hide themselves.

The Rainy DayThe day is cold, and dark, and dreary;It rains, and the wind is never weary;The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,But at every gust the dead leaves fall,And the day is dark...

And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day,Shall fold their tents like the Arabs,and silently steal away.

A Psalm of LifeTell me not in mournful numbers,Life is but an empty dream!For the soul is dead that slumbers,And things are not what they seem.Life is real! Life is earnest!And the grave is not...

His imagination seemed still to exhaust itself in running, before it tried to leap the ditch. While he mused, the fire burned in other brains. Other hands wrote the books he dreamed about. He freely...

Not in the clamor of the crowded street,Not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng,But in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.

The purpose of that apple tree is to grow a little new wood each year. That is what I plan to do.

Tell me not in mournful numbers,Life is but an empty dream!For the soul is dead that slumbers,And things are not what they seem.Life is real! Life is earnest!And the grave is not its goal;Dust thou...

Resolve, and thou art free. But breathe the airOf mountains, and their unapproachable summitsWill lift thee to the level of themselves.

If you would hit the mark, you must aim a little above it;Every arrow that flies feels the attraction of earth.

How Beautiful is the rain!After the dust and heat,In the broad and fiery street,In the narrow lane,How beautiful is the rain!How it clatters along the roofs,Like the tramp of hoofs!How it gushes and struggles outFrom...

Straight between them ran the pathway,Never grew the grass upon it

I heard the bells on Christmas DayTheir old, familiar carols play,And wild and sweetThe words repeatOf peace on earth, good-will to men!

We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by what we have already done.

By the shores of Gitche Gumee,By the shining Big-Sea-Water,Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis,Dark behind it rose the forest,Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,Rose the firs with cones upon them;Bright before it...

Resolve, and thou art free.

A boy’s will is the wind’s will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.

Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sand of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o’er life’s solenm main, A forlorn...

These are the woes of Slaves;They glare from the abyss;They cry, from unknown graves,”We are the Witnesses!

The heights by great men reached and kept were not attained in sudden flight but, they while their companions slept, they were toiling upwards in the night.

With favoring winds, o’er sunlit seas,We sailed for the Hesperides,The land where golden apples grow;But that, ah! that was long ago.How far, since then, the ocean streamsHave swept us from that land of dreams,That land...

The Day is DoneThe day is done, and the darknessFalls from the wings of Night,As a feather is wafted downwardFrom an eagle in his flight.I see the lights of the villageGleam through the rain and...

If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each man’s life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.

Think of your woods and orchards without birds!Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beamsAs in an idiot’s brain remembered wordsHang empty ‘mid the cobwebs of his dreams!

My soul is full of longingfor the secret of the sea,and the heart of the great oceansends a thrilling pulse through me.

Look not mournfully into the past, it comes not back again. Wisely improve the present, it is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart.

A torn jacket is soon mended, but hard words bruise the heart of a child.