Ralph Waldo Emerson Quotes
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Never read any book that is not a year old.
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The soul is subject to dollars.
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Keep cool: it will be all one a hundred years hence.
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But these young scholars who invade our hills, Bold as the engineer who fells the wood, And travelling often in the cut he makes, Love not the flower they pluck, and know it not, And all their botany is Latin names.
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Heartily know, When half-gods go, The gods arrive.
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Self-trust is the first secret of success.
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A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him I may think aloud.
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The soul active sees absolute truth; and utters truth, or creates.
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You shall have joy, or you shall have power, said God; you shall not have both.
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God will not have his work made manifest by cowards
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Every sweet has its sour; every evil its good.
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None believeth in the soul of man, but only in some man or person old and departed.
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Blessed are those who have no talent!
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Man Thinking must not be subdued by his instruments.
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Is not marriage an open question, when it is alleged, from the beginning of the world, that such as are in the institution wish to get out, and such as are out wish to get in?
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Money, which represents the prose of life, and which is hardly spoken of in parlors without an apology, is, in its effects and laws, as beautiful as roses.
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Pass in, pass in, the angels say, In to the upper doors; Nor count compartments of the floors, But mount to Paradise By the stairway of surprise.
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It costs a beautiful person no exertion to paint her image on our eyes; yet how splendid is that benefit! It costs no more for a wise soul to convey his quality to other men.
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The first wealth is health.
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Only the great generalizations survive. The sharp words of the Declaration of Independence, lampooned then and since as 'glittering generalities,' have turned out blazing ubiquities that will burn forever and ever.
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If I made laws for Shakers or a school, I should gazette every Saturday all the words they were wont to use in reporting religious experience, as 'spiritual life,' 'God,' 'soul,' 'cross,' etc., and if they could not find new ones next week, they might remain silent.
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Whatever limits us we call Fate.
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The Indian who was laid under a curse, that the wind should not blow on him, nor water flow to him, nor fire burn him, is a type of us all. The dearest events are summer-rain, and we the Para coats that shed every drop. Nothing is left us now but death. We look to that with a grim satisfaction, saying, there at least is reality that will not dodge us.
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Make the most of yourself, for that is all there is of you.