Margaret Fuller Quotes
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Very early, I knew that the only object in life was to grow.
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The use of criticism, in periodical writing, is to sift, not to stamp a work.
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It is with just that hope that we welcome everything that tends to strengthen the fibre and develop the nature on more sides. When the intellect and affections are in harmony; when intellectual consciousness is calm and deep; inspiration will not be confounded with fancy.
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Come, let us mount on the wings of the morning, Flying for joy of the flight, Wild with all longing, now soaring, now staying, Mingling like day and dawn, swinging and swaying, Hung like a cloud in the light: I am immortal! I feel it! I feel it! Love bears me up, love is might!
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It was thy kiss, Love, that made me immortal.
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Knights of the Rosy Cross, they bore Its weight within the heart, but wore Without, devotion's sign in glistening ruby bright; The gall and vinegar they drank alone, But to the world at large would only own The wine of faith, sparkling with rosy light.
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There are who separate the eternal light In forms of man and woman, day and night; They cannot bear that God be essence quite.
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Mercury has cast aside The signs of intellectual pride, Freely offers thee the soul: Art thou noble to receive?Canst thou give or take the whole, Nobly promise and believe? Then thou wholly human art, A spotless, radiant, ruby heart, And the golden chain of love Has bound thee to the realm above.
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I accept the universe.
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Life-flow of my natal hour, I will not weary of thy power, Till in the changes of thy sound A chord's three parts distinct are found. I will faithful move with thee, God-ordered, self-fed energy, Nature in eternity.
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Thou art greatly wise, my friend, and ever respected by me, yet I find not in your theory or your scope, room enough for the lyric inspirations, or the mysterious whispers of life. To me it seems that it is madder never to abandon oneself, than often to be infatuated; better to be wounded, a captive, and a slave, than always to walk in armor.
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The pencil moved prophetic: together now men read In the fair book of nature, and find the hope they need. The wreath woven by the river is by the seaside worn, And one of fate's best arrows to its due mark is borne.
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The day wears heavily, - why, then, ignore it; Peace is the soul's desire, - such thoughts restore it; The truth thou art, - it needs not implore it.
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To me, our destinies seem flower and fruit Born of an ever-generating root...
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I prize thy gentle heart, Free from ambition, falsehood, or art, And thy good mind, Daily refined, By pure desire To fan the heaven-seeking fire.
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I feel perfectly willing to stay my threescore years and ten, if it be thought I need so much tuition from this planet; but it seems to me that my future upon earth will soon close. It may be terribly trying, but it will not be so very long, now. God will transplant the root, if he wills to rear it into fruit-bearing.
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You ask a faith, - they are content with faith; You ask to have, - but they reply 'IT hath.' There is no end, there need be no path.
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This is my tendency; but can I say That this my thought leads the true, only way? I only know it constant leads, and I obey.
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With equal sweetness the commissioned hours Shed light and dew upon both weeds and flowers. The weeds unthankful raise their vile heads high, Flaunting back insult to the gracious sky; While the dear flowers, wht fond humility, Uplift the eyelids of a starry eye In speechless homage, and, from grateful hearts, Perfume that homage all around imparts.
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I do not think we are deceived to grow, But that the crudest fancy, slightest show, Covers some separate truth that we may know.In the one Truth, each separate fact is true; Eternally in one I many view, And destinies through destiny pursue.
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A single thought transfuses every form; The sunny day is changed into the storm, For light is dark, hard soft, and cold is warm.One presence fill and floods the whole serene; Nothing can be, nothing has ever been, Except the one truth that creates the scene.
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Thoughts which come at a call Are no better than if they came not at all Neither flower nor fruit, Yielding no root For plant, shrub, or tree.
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How many persons must there be who cannot worship alone since they are content with so little.
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Might the simple maxim, that honesty is the best policy be laid to heart! Might a sense of the true aims of life elevate the tone of politics and trade, till public and private honor become identical!