Over 40,000 Famous Quotes Sorted By Topic and Author

A woman's always younger than a man of equal years.

Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God; And only he who sees takes off his shoes; The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

The beauty seems right By force of beauty, and the feeble wrong Because of weakness.

The essence of all beauty, I call love, The attribute, the evidence, and end, The consummation to the inward sense Of beauty apprehended from without, I still call love.

Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive, Half wishing they were dead to save the shame. The sudden blush devours them, neck and brow; They have drawn too near the fire of life, like gnats, And flare up bodily, wings and all.

We get no good By being ungenerous, even to a book, And calculating profits--so much help By so much reading. It is rather when We gloriously forget ourselves, and plunge Soul-forward, headlong, into a book's profound, Impassioned for its beauty, and salt of truth-- 'Tis then we get the right good from a book.

Books, books, books! I had found the secret of a garret room Piled high with cases in my father's name; Piled high, packed large,--where, creeping in and out Among the giant fossils of my past, Like some small nimble mouse between the ribs Of a mastodon, I nibbled here and there At this or that box, pulling through the gap, In heats of terror, haste, victorious joy, The first book first. And how I felt it beat Under my pillow, in the morning's dark, An hour before the sun would let me read! My books! At last, because the time was ripe, I chanced upon the poets.

The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise, I barter for curl upon that mart.

He likes the poor things of the world the best, I would not, therefore, if I could be rich. It pleases him t stoop for buttercups.

Women know The way to rear up children ; They know a simple, merry, tender knack Of tying sashes, fitting baby-shoes, And stringing pretty words that make no sense, And kissing full sense into empty words; Which things are corals to cut life upon, Although such trifles.

Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers, Ere the sorrow comes with years? They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, And that cannot stop their tears.

"There is no God," the foolish saith, But none, "There is no sorrow." And nature oft the cry of faith In bitter need will borrow: Eyes which the preacher could not school, By wayside graves are raised; And lips say, "God be pitiful," Who ne'er said, "God be praised.".

There's not a crime But takes its proper change out still in crime If once rung on the counter of this world.

And a breastplate made of daisies, Closely fitting, leaf on leaf, Periwinkles interlaced Drawn for belt about the waist; While the brown bees, humming praises, Shot their arrows round the chief.

For poets Half-poets even, are still whole democrats.

The world goes whispering to its own, "This anguish pierces to the bone;" And tender friends go sighing round, "What love can ever cure this wound?" My days go on, my days go on.

Life treads on life, and heart on heart; We press too close in church and mart To keep a dream or grave apart.

The devil's most devilish when respectable.

Eyes of gentianellas azure, Staring, winking at the skies.

Beautiful. .