An election is coming. Universal peace is declared, and the foxes have a sincere interest in prolonging the lives of the poultry.
Oh may I join the choir invisible
Of those immortal dead who live again
In minds made better by their presence.
His smile is sweetened by his gravity.
Certain winds will make men’s temper bad.
Sad as a wasted passion.
Knightly love is blent with reverence
As heavenly air is blent with heavenly blue.
Perhaps the wind
Wails so in winter for the summers dead,
And all sad sounds are nature’s funeral cries
For what has been and is not.
A difference of tastes in jokes is a great strain on the affections.
I think my life began with waking up and loving my mother’s face: it was so near to me, and her arms were round me, and she sang to me.
Men’s men: gentle or simple, they’re much of a muchness.
The mother’s yearning, that completest type of the life in another life which is the essence of real human love, feels the presence of the cherished child even in the debased, degraded man.
What greater thing is there for two human souls, than to feel that they are joined for life – to strengthen each other in all labour, to rest on each other in all sorrow, to minister to each other in all pain, to be one with each other in silent unspeakable memories at the moment of the last parting?
It’s but little good you’ll do watering last year’s crops.
He was like a cock who thought the sun had risen to hear him crow.
Blessed is the man who, having nothing to say, abstains from giving us wordy evidence of the fact.
Wear a smile and have friends; wear a scowl and have wrinkles. What do we live for if not to make the world less difficult for each other?