Quotes
Quotes - Smith
Magnificent spectacle of human happiness.
In the midst of this sublime and terrible storm [at Sidmouth], Dame Partington, who lived upon the beach, was seen at the door of her house with mop and pattens, trundling her mop, squeezing out the sea-water, and vigorously pushing away the Atlantic Ocean. The Atlantic was roused; Mrs. Partington's spirit was up. But I need not tell you that the contest was unequal; the Atlantic Ocean beat Mrs. Partington.
Men who prefer any load of infamy, however great, to any pressure of taxation, however light.
No Drury Lane for you to-day.
I saw them go: one horse was blind,
The tails of both hung down behind,
Their shoes were on their feet.
Lax in their gaiters, laxer in their gait.
Thinking is but an idle waste of thought,
And nought is everything and everything is nought.
In the name of the Prophet--figs.
And thou hast walked about (how strange a story!)
In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago,
When the Memnonium was in all its glory.
The cold winds swept the mountain-height,
And pathless was the dreary wild,
And 'mid the cheerless hours of night
A mother wandered with her child:
As through the drifting snows she press'd,
The babe was sleeping on her breast.
My country, 't is of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing:
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims' pride,
From every mountain-side
Let freedom ring.
Our fathers' God, to thee,
Author of liberty,
To thee I sing;
Long may our land be bright
With freedom's holy light;
Protect us by thy might,
Great God, our King!
Like a pale martyr in his shirt of fire.
In winter, when the dismal rain
Comes down in slanting lines,
And Wind, that grand old harper, smote
His thunder-harp of pines.
A poem round and perfect as a star.
Some books are drenchèd sands
On which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps,
Like a wrecked argosy.
The saddest thing that befalls a soul
Is when it loses faith in God and woman.
We twain have met like the ships upon the sea,
Who hold an hour's converse, so short, so sweet;
One little hour! And then, away they speed
On lonely paths, through mist and cloud and foam,
To meet no more.
We hear the wail of the remorseful winds
In their strange penance. And this wretched orb
Knows not the taste of rest; a maniac world,
Homeless and sobbing through the deep she goes.
The soul of man is like the rolling world,
One half in day, the other dipt in night;
The one has music and the flying cloud,
The other, silence and the wakeful stars.
Each time we love,
We turn a nearer and a broader mark
To that keen archer, Sorrow, and he strikes.
Time has fallen asleep in the afternoon sunshine.
The man who in this world can keep the whiteness of his soul is not likely to lose it in any other.
Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well.
Everything is sweetened by risk.
