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.
What is pride? A rocket that emulates the stars.
The best portion of a good man's life is his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.
That best portion of a man's life, his little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.
Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
For I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity.
