Quotes
Quotes - Beattie
Ah, who can tell how hard it is to climb
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar?
Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free;
Patient of toil, serene amidst alarms;
Inflexible in faith, invincible in arms.
Old age comes on apace to ravage all the clime.
Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down,
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
With here and there a violet bestrewn,
Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave;
And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave!
At the close of the day when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
When naught but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And naught but the nightingale's song in the grove.
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.
But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn?
Oh when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?
By the glare of false science betray'd,
That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind.
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.
Old age come on apace to ravage all the clime.
Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free; Patient of toil; serene amidst alarms; Inflexible in faith; invincible in arms.
Live your life from your heart. Share from your heart. And your story will touch and heal people's souls.
Rocks, torrents, gulfs, and shapes of giant size And glitt'ring cliff on cliffs, and fiery ramparts rise.
From labour health, from health contentment spring; Contentment opes the source of every joy.
Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale, And sing enamour'd of the nut-brown maid.
The aim of education should be to teach us rather how to think, than what to think - rather to improve our minds, so as to enable us to think for ourselves, than to load the memory with thoughts of other men.
At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove.
Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar!
Let those deplore their doom, Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn: But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb, Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn.
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.
I dare not hope to please a Cinna's ear. Or sing what Varus might vouchsafe to hear; Harsh are the sweetest lays that I can bring, So screams a goose where swans melodious sing.
Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.
Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down; Where a green grassy turf is all I crave, With here and there a violet bestrown, Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave; And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.
Be ignorance thy choice, where knowledge leads to woe.
On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending, And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.
