Ella Wheeler Wilcox Quotes
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Distrust that man who tells you to distrust. He takes the measure of his own small soul, and thinks the world no larger.
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I know there are no errors, In the great Eternal plan.
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My life's long radiant Summer halts at last, And lo! beside my path way I behold Pursuing Autumn glide: nor frost nor cold Has heralded her presence; but a vast Sweet calm that comes not till the year has passed Its fevered solstice, and a tinge of gold Subdues the vivid colouring of bold And passion-hued emotions. I will cast My August days behind me with my May, Nor strive to drag them into Autumn's place, Nor swear I hope when I do but remember. Now violet and rose have had their day, I'll pluck the soberer asters with good grace And call September nothing but September.
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Unwearied, and with springing steps elate, I had conveyed my wealth along the road. The empty sack proved now a heavier load: I was borne down beneath its worthless weight. I stumbled on, and knocked at Death's dark gate. There was no answer. Stung by sorrow's goad I forced my way into that grim abode, And laughed, and flung Life's empty sack to Fate.
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There is a haunting phantom called Regret, A shadowy creature robed somewhat like woe, But fairer in the face, whom all men know By her said mien, and eyes forever wet. No heart would seek her; but once having met All take her by the hand, and to and fro They wander through those paths of long ago-- Those hallowed ways 'twere wiser to forget.
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Love is the centre and circumference; The cause and aim of all things--'tis the key To joy and sorrow, and the recompense For all the ills that have been, or may be.
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Talk health. The dreary, never-changing tale Of mortal maladies is worn and stale. You cannot charm, or interest, or please By harping in that minor chord, disease. Say you are well, or all is well with you, And God shall hear your words and make them true.
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The passion you forbade my lips to utter Will not be silenced. You must hear it in The sullen thunders when they roll and mutter: And when the tempest nears, with wail and din, I know your calm forgetfulness is broken, And to your heart you whisper, "He has spoken."
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While forced to dwell apart from thy dear face, Love, robed like sorrow, led me by the hand And taught my doubting heart to understand That which has puzzled all the human race.
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Distrust that man who tells you to distrust.
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Thou canst not force my soul to wish thee ill, That is the only evil that can kill.
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No fate could rob us of our own-- No circumstance can make it less; What time removes was but a loan, For what was ours we still possess.
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All perfect things are saddening in effect. The autumn wood robed in its scarlet clothes, The matchless tinting on the royal rose Whose velvet leaf by no least flaw is flecked. Love's supreme moment, when the soul unchecked Soars high as heaven, and its best rapture knows, These hold a deeper pathos than our woes, Since they leave nothing better to expect.
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Whatever is a cruel wrong, Whatever is unjust, The honest years that speed along Will trample in the dust.
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Let mine not be that saddest fate of all To live beyond my greater self; to see My faculties decaying, as the tree Stands stark and helpless while its green leaves fall... "She lives, but all her usefulness is past."
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Give, and thou shalt receive. Give thoughts of cheer,Of courage and success, to friend and stranger.And from a thousand sources, far and near,Strength will be sent thee in thy hour of danger.
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But now I know that there is no killing A thing like Love, for it laughs at Death. There is no hushing, there is no stilling That which is part of your life and breath. You may bury it deep, and leave behind you The land, the people that knew your slain; It will push the sods from its grave, and find you On wastes of water or desert plain.
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Don't look for flaws as you go through life and even when you find them it is wise and kind to be somewhat blind, and look for the virtue behind them.
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Gifts count for nothing; will alone is great; All things give way before it, soon or late.
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The world has a thousand creeds, and never a one have I; Nor church of my own, though a million spires are pointing the way on high. But I float on the bosom of faith, that bears me along like a river; And the lamp of my soul is alight with love, for life, and the world, and the Giver.
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There is nothing we cannot live down, and rise above, and overcome.
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Who would attain to summits still and fair,Must nerve himself through valleys of despair.
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There is no sudden entrance into Heaven. Slow is the ascent by the path of Love.
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But though that place I never gain, Herein lies comfort for my pain: I will be worthy of it.