Weep not that the world changes- did it keep a stable, changeless state, it were a cause indeed to weep.
To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.
Truth crushed to earth shall rise again.
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief;
Nothing can be more striking to one who is accustomed to the little inclosures called public parks in our American cities, than the spacious, open grounds of London. I doubt, in fact, whether any person fully comprehends their extent, from any of the ordinary descriptions of them, until he has seen them or tried to walk over them.
There is no glory in star or blossom till looked upon by a loving eye; There is no fragrance in April breezes till breathed with joy as they wander by.
A beautiful city is Richmond, seated on the hills that overlook the James River. The dwellings have a pleasant appearance, often standing by themselves in the midst of gardens. In front of several, I saw large magnolias, their dark, glazed leaves glittering in the March sunshine.
Remorse is virtue's root; its fair increase are fruits of innocence and blessedness.
All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.
Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster - children into strength and athletic proportion.
Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.
The February sunshine steeps your boughs and tints the buds and swells the leaves within.
The Parisian has his amusements as regularly as his meals, the theatre, music, the dance, a walk in the Tuilleries, a refection in the cafe, to which ladies resort as commonly as the other sex. Perpetual business, perpetual labor, is a thing of which he seems to have no idea.
The birch-bark canoe of the savage seems to me one of the most beautiful and perfect things of the kind constructed by human art.
A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
Where hast thou wandered, gentle gale, to find the perfumes thou dost bring?
Eloquence is the poetry of prose.
I think I shall return to America even a better patriot than when I left it. A citizen of the United States, travelling on the continent of Europe, finds the contrast between a government of power and a government of opinion forced upon him at every step.
Poetry is that art which selects and arranges the symbols of thought in such a manner as to excite the imagination the most powerfully and delightfully.
A herd of prairie-wolves will enter a field of melons and quarrel about the division of the spoils as fiercely and noisily as so many politicians.
