When I am dead, no pageant train
Shall waste their sorrows at my bier,
Nor worthless pomp of homage vain
Stain it with hypocritic tear.
He that works and does some Poem, not he that merely says one, is worthy of the name of Poet.
And Marlowe, Webster, Fletcher, Ben,
Whose fire-hearts sowed our furrows when
The world was worthy of such men.
The growing drama has outgrown such toys
Of simulated stature, face, and speech:
It also peradventure may outgrow
The simulation of the painted scene,
Boards, actors, prompters, gaslight, and costume,
And take for a worthier stage the soul itself,
Its shifting fancies and celestial lights,
With all its grand orchestral silences
To keep the pauses of its rhythmic sounds.
When the fight begins within himself,
A man's worth something.
A reading-machine, always wound up and going,
He mastered whatever was not worth the knowing.
In life's small things be resolute and great
To keep thy muscle trained: know'st thou when Fate
Thy measure takes, or when she'll say to thee,
"I find thee worthy; do this deed for me"?
One thorn of experience is worth a whole wilderness of warning.
Time may restore us in his course
Goethe's sage mind and Byron's force;
But where will Europe's latter hour
Again find Wordsworth's healing power?
One day in the country
Is worth a month in town.
But I account it worth
All pangs of fair hopes crost--
All loves and honors lost,--
To gain the heavens, at cost
Of losing earth.
Is life worth living? Yes, so long
As there is wrong to right.
So long as faith with freedom reigns
And loyal hope survives,
And gracious charity remains
To leaven lowly lives;
While there is one untrodden tract
For intellect or will,
And men are free to think and act,
Life is worth living still.
Beauty and Truth, tho' never found, are worthy to be sought.
A brave endeavor
To do thy duty, whate'er its worth,
Is better than life with love forever
And love is the sweetest thing on earth.
Everything is worth what its purchaser will pay for it.
Marius said, "I see the cure is not worth the pain."
Alexander wept when he heard from Anaxarchus that there was an infinite number of worlds; and his friends asking him if any accident had befallen him, he returns this answer: "Do you not think it a matter worthy of lamentation that when there is such a vast multitude of them, we have not yet conquered one?"
Look beneath the surface; let not the several quality of a thing nor its worth escape thee.
So much is a man worth as he esteems himself.
How many worthy men have we seen survive their own reputation!
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.
The labourer is worthy of his hire.
Of whom the world was not worthy.
"But, Rome, 'tis alone, with awful sway, to rule Mankind; and make the world obey; Disposing peace, and War, thy own Majestick Way. To tame the Proud, the fetter'd Slave to free; These are Imperial Arts, and worthy thee." -Anchises to Aeneas in the Underworld