"O gold! I still prefer thee unto paper which makes bank credit like a bank of vapour."
"The power of Thought, the magic of the Mind!"
"Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come."
"When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, And the dimpling stream runs laughing by; When the air does laugh with our merry wit, And the green hill laughs with the noise of it."
"Yes, Love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire with angels shared, by Allah given to lift from earth our low desire."
Whose game was empires and whose stakes were thrones, Whose table earth, whose dice were human bones
Here's a sigh to those who love me,
And a smile to those who hate;
And, whatever sky's above me,
Here's a heart for every fate.
I know that two and two make four - & should be glad to prove it too if I could - though I must say if by any sort of process I could convert 2 & 2 into five it would give me much greater pleasure.
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests.
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more.
High mountains are a feeling, but the hum
Of human cities torture.
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.
I speak not of men's creeds -
they rest between man and his Maker.
The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.
Letter writing is the only device for combining solitude with good company.
One of the pleasures of reading old letters is the knowledge that they need no answer.
I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.
It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, a luster obliterates. There is little distinct left without an effort of memory, then indeed the lights are rekindled for a moment - but who can be sure that the imagination is not the torch-bearer?
There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.
~Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith
Poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was the first American to have plumbing installed in his house, in 1840.
