To begin, begin.
The mind that is wise mourns less for what age takes away than what it leaves behind.
The child is father of the man.
The best portion of a good man's life is his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.
The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants; and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this.
That best portion of a good man's life; His little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.
With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, we see into the life of things.
When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.
That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.
In truth the prison, unto which we doom Ourselves, no prison is.
True beauty dwells in deep retreats, Whose veil is unremoved Till heart with heart in concord beats, And the lover is beloved.
A cheerful life is what the Muses love, A soaring spirit is their prime delight.
A Creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles.
But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?
And beauty, for confiding youth, Those shocks of passion can prepare That kill the bloom before its time; And blanch, without the owner's crime, The most resplendent hair.
Golf is a day spent in a round of strenuous idleness.
Fair seedtime had my soul, and I grew up Fostered alike by beauty and by fear.
Sweet is the lore which nature brings,our meddeling interlectmis-shapes the beautious forms of things.we murder to dissect
Love had he found in huts where poor men lie; His daily teachers had been woods and rills, The silence that is in the starry sky, The sleep that is among the lonely hills.
Poetry is the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; it is the impassioned expression which is in the countenance of all Science.
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