Nay, tempt me not to love again: There was a time when love was sweet; Dear Nea! had I known thee then, Our souls had not been slow to meet! But oh! this weary heart hath run So many a time the rounds of pain, Not even for thee, thou
What though the radiance which was once so bright Be not forever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;Grief not, rather find, Strength in what remains behind, In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever
It is not growing like a tree in bulk doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere, A lily of a day is fairer in May Although it fall and die that night, It was
Sick I am of idle words, past all reconciling, Words that weary and perplex and pander and conceal, Wake the sounds that cannot lie, for all their sweet beguiling; The language one need fathom not, but only hear and feel.
I find the great thing in this world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving.
Buy on the rumor; sell on the news.
Words without actions are the assassins of idealism.
Education is like a double-edged sword. It may be turned to dangerous uses if it is not properly handled.