WednesdayJan 07, 2026
Quotes: 53419 Authors: 9969
The prey of fear, he, always curtailed, extinguished, thwarted by the dusk, work partly done, says to the alternating blaze, 'Again the sun! anew each day; and new and new and new, that comes into and steadies my soul.'
Excess is the common substitute for energy.
My father used to say, 'Superior people never make long visits, have to be shown Longfellows grave, or the glass flowers at Harvard.'
'The deepest feeling always shows itself in silence; not in silence, but restraint.'
We don't like flowers that do not wilt; they must die, and nine she-camel hairs aid memory.
I, too, dislike it. Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one discovers in it, after all, a place for the genuine.
HE MADE THIS SCREEN not of silver nor of coral, but of weatherbeaten laurel. Here, he introduced a sea uniform like tapestry; here, a fig-tree; there, a face; there, a dragon circling space -- designating here, a bower; there, a pointed passion-flower.
I am troubled, I'm dissatisfied, I'm Irish.
Not till the poets among us can be 'literalists of the imagination'above insolence and triviality and can present for inspection, 'imaginary gardens with real toads in them.' shall we have it.
What is our innocence, What is our guilt? All are naked, none is safe.
I wonder what Adam and Eve think of it by this time.
The mind is an enchanting thing is an enchanted thing, like the glaze on a katydid-wing subdivided by sun till the nettings are legion.
Nor was he insincere in saying, 'Make my house your inn.' Inns are not residences.
O to be a dragon, a symbol of the power of Heavenof silk-worm size or immense; at times invisible. Felicitous phenomenon!
Omissions are not accidents.
Of the crow-blue mussel shells, one keeps adjusting the ash heaps; opening and shutting itself like an injured fan.
There is a great amount of poetry in unconscious fastidiousness.
The power of the visible is the invisable.
Among animals, one has a sense of humor. Humor saves a few steps, it saves years.
The sweet air coming into your house on a fine day, from water etched with waves as formal as the scales on a fish.
They say there is a sweeter air where it was made, than we have here.
And the ocean, under the pulsation of light- houses and noise of bell buoys, advances as usual, looking as if it were not that ocean in which dropped things are bound to sink in which if they turn and twist, it is neither with volition nor consciousness.
What sap went through that little thread to make the cherry red!
The wrinkles progress among themselves in a phalanxbeautiful under networks of foam, and fade breathlessly while the sea rustles in and out of the seaweed.
If you will tell me why the fen appears impassable, I then will tell you why I think that I can cross it if I try.
A philosopher, being asked what was the first thing necessary to win the love of a woman, answered, 'Opportunity'.
Poetry is the art of creating imaginary gardens with real toads.
Dürer would have seen a reason for living in a town like this.
Terms of use and copyrights
