Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave
Quote by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Build today, then strong and sure, With a firm and ample base; And ascending and...
We judge ourselves by what we feel capable of doing, while others judge us by...
The rapture of pursuing is the prize the vanquished gain.
Ambition is so powerful a passion in the human breast, that however high we reach...
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak
Ah, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend.
Art is the child of Nature; yes, her darling child, in whom we trace the...
The first pressure of sorrow crushes out from our hearts the best wine; afterwards the...
Sometimes we may learn more from a man's errors, than from his virtues.
Love gives itself; it is not bought
Love gives itself; it is not bought.
Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you friendship let me...
The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain.
Simplicity in character, in manners, in style; in all things the supreme excellence is simplicity.
You would attain to the divine perfection, And yet not turn your back upon the...
If we could read the secret history of our enemies we should find in each...
When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music.
The counterfeit and counterpart of Nature is reproduced in art.
All things come round to him who will but wait.
There is nothing holier in this life of ours than the first consciousness of love,...