Over 40,000 Famous Quotes Sorted By Topic and Author

That low man seeks a little thing to do, Sees it and does it, This high man, with a great thing to pursue, Dies ere he knows it. That low man goes on adding one to one, His hundreds soon hit: His high man, aiming at a million, Misses an unit.

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.

What I aspired to be and was not, comforts me.

It is the glory and good of Art, That Art remains the one way possible Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine at least.

Autumn wins you best by this, its mute Appeal to sympathy for its decay.

All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower.

Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure.

No, when the fight begins within himself, A man's worth something.

There's a woman like a dew-drop, She's so purer than the purest.

Feast of Etheldreda, Abbess of Ely, c.678 Continuing a short series on authenticity: For the preacher's merit or demerit, It were to be wished the flaws were fewer In the earthen vessel, holding treasure, Which lies as safe in a golden ewer; But the main thing is, does it hold good measure? Heaven soon sets right all other matters.

It's wiser being good than bad; It's safer being meek than fierce: It's fitter being sane than mad. My own hope is, a sun will pierce The thickest cloud earth ever stretched; That, after Last, returns the First, Though a wide compass round be fetched; That what began best, can't end worst, Nor what God blessed once, prove accurst.

One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, Never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to flight better, Sleep to wake.

Day! Faster and more fast, O'er night's brim, day boils at last; Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim.

'Tis not what man Does which exalts him, but what man Would do.

When the liquor's out, why clink the cannikin?

It's a long time between drinks.

Oh, to be in England, Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf, Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England--now.

To me at least was never evening yet But seemed far beautifuller than its day.

A face to lose youth for, to occupy age With the dream of, meet death with.

Good, to forgive; Best to forget.