James Russell Lowell Quotes
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They come transfigured back,Secure from change in their high-hearted ways,Beautiful evermore, and with the raysOf morn on their white Shields of Expectation!
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Sentiment is intellectualized emotion, - emotion precipitated, as it were, in pretty crystals by the fancy.
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A great man is made up of qualities that meet or make great occasions.
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In vain we call old notions fudge,And bend our conscience to our dealing;The Ten Commandments will not budge,And stealing will continue stealing.
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What men prize most is a privilege, even if it be that of chief mourner at a funeral.
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Let us be of good cheer, however, remembering that the misfortunes hardest to bear are those which never come.
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You've gut to git up airlyEf you want to take in God.
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The greatest homage we can pay to truth, is to use it.
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Solitude is as needful to the imagination as society is wholesome for the character.
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It is curious how tyrannical the habit of reading is, and what shifts we make to escape thinking. There is no bore we dread being left alone with so much as our own minds.
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There is no work of genius which has not been the delight of mankind, no word of genius to which the human heart and soul have not sooner or later responded.
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Light is the symbol of truth.
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A weed is no more than a flower in disguise, Which is seen through at once, if love give a man eyes.
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Gineral C. is a dreffle smart man;He’s ben on all sides thet give places or pelf;But consistency still wuz a part of his plan,-He’s ben true to one party, an’ thet is himself.
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It's 'most enough to make a deacon swear.
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Our slender life runs rippling by, and glidesInto the silent hollow of the past;What is there that abidesTo make the next age better for the last?
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The thing we long for, that we areFor one transcendent moment.
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Zekle crep' up quite unbeknownAn' peeked in thru' the winder,An there sot Huldy all alone,'ith no one nigh to hender.
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The nurse of full-grown souls is solitude.
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The child is not mine as the first was,I cannot sing it to rest,I cannot lift it up fatherlyAnd bliss it upon my breast;Yet it lies in my little one's cradleAnd sits in my little one's chair,And the light of the heaven she's gone toTransfigures its golden hair.
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Nature, they say, doth dote,And cannot make a manSave on some worn-out plan,Repeating us by rote.
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A marciful Providunce fashioned us hollerO' purpose thet we might our principles swaller.
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Ye come and go incessant; we remainSafe in the hallowed quiets of the past;Be reverent, ye who flit and are forgot,Of faith so nobly realized as this.
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There are two kinds of weakness, that which breaks and that which bends.