Quotes
Quotes about Parting
Like a plank of driftwood Tossed on the watery main, Another plank encountered, Meets, touches, parts again; So tossed, and drifting ever, On life's unresting sea, Men meet, and greet, and sever, Parting eternally.
Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow-- You are not wrong who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.
Let it rise! let it rise, till it meet the sum in his coming; let the earliest light of the morning gild it, and the parting day linger and play on its summit.
What gained we, little moth? Thy ashes, Thy one brief parting pang may show: And withering thoughts for soul that dashes, From deep to deep, are but a death more slow.
Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news Hath but a losing office, and his tongue Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, Rememb'red tolling a departing friend.
Adieu! 'tis love's last greeting, The parting hour is come! And fast thy soul is fleeting To seek its starry home.
For the king of Babylon stood at the parting of the way, at the head of the two ways, to use divination: he made his arrows bright, he consulted with images, he looked in the liver.
Such parting break the heart they fondly hope to heal.
If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed; If not, 'tis true this parting was well made.
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
She went her unremembering way, She went and left in me The pang of all the partings gone, And partings yet to be.
I do not mean to be disrespectful, but the attempt of the Lords to stop the progress of reform, reminds me very forcibly of the great storm of Sidmouth, and of the conduct of the excellent Mrs. Partington on that occasion. In the winter of 1824, there set in a great flood upon that town--the tide rose to an incredible height: the waves rushed in upon the houses, and everything was threatened with destruction. In the midst of this sublime and terrible storm, 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. She was excellent at a slop or a puddle, but she should not have meddled with a tempest.
Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow-- You are not wrong who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.
Light Winged Smoke Lightwinged Smoke, Icarian bird, Melting thy pinions in thy upward flight, Lark without song, and the messenger of dawn, Circling above the hamlets as thy nest; Or else, departing dream, and shadowy form Of midnight vision, gathering up thy skirts; By night star-veiling, and by day Darkening the light and blotting out the sun; Go thou my incense upward from this hearth, And ask the gods to pardon this clear flame. -Henry David Thoreau-.
Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay, And at my easement sing, Though it should prove a farewell lay And this our parting spring. . . . . Then, little Bird, this boon confer, Come, and my requiem sing, Nor fail to be the harbinger Of everlasting spring.
The sacred lamp of day Now dipt in western clouds his parting day.
When autumn scatters his departing gleams, Warn'd of approaching winter, gather'd, play The swallow-people; and toss'd wide around, O'er the calm sky, in convolution swift, The feather'd eddy floats; rejoicing once, Ere to their wintry slumbers they retire.
Parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new colour as it gasps away, The last still loveliest, till--'tis gone--and all is gray.
. . . th' approach of night The skies yet blushing with departing light, When falling dews with spangles deck'd the glade, And the low sun had lengthen'd ev'ry shade.
Their meetings made December June. Their every parting was to die.
The violets were past their prime, Yet their departing breath Was sweeter, in the blast of death, Than all the lavish fragrance of the time.
