Quotes
Quotes about Soul
Lightnings, that show the vast and foamy deep, The rending thunders, as they onward roll, The loud winds, that o'er the billows sweep-- Shake the firm nerve, appal the bravest soul!
But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end Like quills upon the fretful porpentine.
If a man has good corn, or wood, or boards, or pigs to sell, or can make better chairs or knives, crucibles, or church organs, than anybody else, you will find a broad, hard-beaten road to his house, tho it be in the woods. And if a man knows the law, people will find it out, tho he live in a pine shanty, and resort to him. And if a man can pipe or sing, so as to wrap the prisoned soul in an elysium; or can paint landscape, and convey into oils and ochers all the enchantments of spring or autumn; or can liberate or intoxicate all people who hear him with delicious songs and verses, 'tis certain that the secret can not be kept: the first witness tells it to a second, and men go by fives and tens and fifties to his door.
That man is successful who has lived well, laughed often, and loved much, who has gained the respect of the intelligent men and the love of children; who has filled his niche and accomplished his task; who leaves the world better than he found it, whether by an improved poppy, a perfect poem, or a rescued soul; who never lacked appreciation of earth's beauty or failed to express it; who looked for the best in others and gave the best he had.
Be patient, my soul: thou hath suffered worse than this.
Who doubting tyranny, and fainting under Fortune's false lottery, desperately run To death, for dread of death; that soul's most stout, That, bearing all mischance, dares last it out.
Fool! I mean not That poor-souled piece of heroism, self-slaughter; Oh no! the miserablest day we live There's many a better thing to do than die!
Britannia's shame! There took her gloomy flight, On wing impetuous, a black sullen soul . . . Less base the fear of death than fear of life. O Britain! infamous for suicide.
The Indian Summer, the dead Summer's soul.
Our life's a flying shadow, God's the pole, The index pointing at Him is our soul; Death the horizon, when our sun is set, Which will through Christ a resurrection get.
All is not well. I doubt some foul play. Would the night were come! Till then sit still, my soul. Foul deeds will rise, Though all the earth o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes.
Suspicion is the companion of mean souls, and the bane of all good society.
The swan, like the soul of the poet, By the dull world is ill understood.
I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death, And from the organ-pipe of fraity sings His soul and body to their lasting rest.
The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear.
There is in souls a sympathy with sounds.
Our souls sit close and silently within, And their own web from their own entrails spin; And when eyes meet far off, our sense is such, That, spider like, we feel the tenderest touch.
If thou art something bring thy soul and interchange with mine. - Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller,
It [true love] is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind In body and in soul can bind.
For thou hast given me in this beauteous face A world of earthly blessings to my soul, If sympathy of love unite our thoughts.
Thy clothes are all the soul thou hast.
Tea does our fancy aid, Repress those vapours which the head invade And keeps that palace of the soul serene.
There is no real teacher who in practice does not believe in the existence of the soul, or in a magic that acts on it through speech.
We look through gloom and storm-drift Beyond the years: The soul would have no rainbow Hard the eyes no tears.
Tears are the summer showers to the soul.
