The Night has a thousand eyes, And the Day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one; Yet the light of a whole life dies When love is done.
It costs so much to be a full human being that there are very few who have the enlightenment, or the courage, to pay the price … One has to abandon altogether the search for security, and reach out to the risk of living with both arms. One has to embrace the world like a lover, and yet demand no easy return of love. One has to accept pain as a condition of existence. One has to court doubt and darkness as the cost of knowing. One needs a will stubborn in conflict, but apt always to the total acceptance of every consequence of living and dying.
If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die. That strain again! it had a dying fall: O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour!
How different life might be, if in our daily intercourse and conversation we thought of our friends as lying before us on the last bed of flowers--how differently we should then judge, and how differently we should act. All that is of the earth is then forgotten, all the little failings inherent in human nature vanish from our minds, and we only see what was good, unselfish, and loving in that soul, and we think with regret of how much more we might have done to requite that love. It is curious how forgetful we are of death, how little we think that we are dying daily, and that what we call life is really death, and death the beginning of a higher life. Such a thought should not make our life less bright, but rather more--it should make us feel how unimportant many things are which we consider all-important: how much we could bear which we think unbearable, if only we thought that to-morrow we ourselves or our friends may be taken away, at least for a time. You should think of death, should feel that what you call your own is only lent to you, and that all that remains as a real comfort is the good work done in this short journey, the true unselfish love shown to those whom God has given us, has placed near to us, not without a high purpose.
I've been making a list of the things they don't teach you at school. They don't teach you how to love somebody. They don't teach you how to be famous. They don't teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. They don't teach you how to walk away from someone you don't love any longer. They don't teach you how to know what's going on in someone else's mind. They don't teach you what to say to someone who's dying. They don't teach you anything worth knowing.
The night has a thousand eyes, And the day but one; Yet the light of the bright world dies With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes, And the heart but one; Yet the light of a whole life dies When love is done.
It is a sweet thought that Jesus Christ did not come forth without His Father's permission, authority, consent, and assistance. He was sent of the Father that He might be the Savior of men. . . . Didst thou ever consider the depth of love in the heart of Jehovah, when God the Father equipped His Son for the great enterprise of mercy? If not, be this thy day's meditation. The _Father_ sent Him! Contemplate that subject. Think how Jesus works what the _Father_ wills. In the wounds of the dying Savior see the love of the great I AM. Let every thought of Jesus be also connected with the eternal, ever-blessed God.--_Spurgeon._
~Forgetfulness.~--There is nothing, no, nothing, innocent or good that dies and is forgotten: let us hold to that faith or none. An infant, a prattling child, dying in the cradle, will live again in the better thoughts of those that loved it, and play its part through them in the redeeming actions of the world, though its body be burnt to ashes, or drowned in the deep sea. Forgotten! Oh, if the deeds of human creatures could be traced to their source, how beautiful would even death appear! for how much charity, mercy, and purified affection would be seen to have their growth in dusty graves!--_Dickens._
Dear Father, deliver us from evil. Deliver us from hatred. Heal our wounds, heal our souls. Give us inner peace in a world of dead and dying. Help us to love, even as they lay dying. Amen.
O Love! they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying! And answer, echoes, answer! dying, dying, dying.
Our lives are in the hands of a Father, who knows what is best for all of us. Death is painful to the creature, but in God there is no death, no dying; dying belongs to life, and is only a passage to a more perfect world into which we all go when God calls us. When one's happiness is perfect, then the thought of death often frightens one, but even that is conquered by the feeling and the faith that all is best as it is, and that God loves us more than even a father and mother can love us. It is a beautiful world in which we live, but it is only beautiful and only really our home when we feel the nearness of God at each moment and lean on Him and trust in His love.... When the hour of parting comes, we know that love never dies, and that God who bound us closely together in this life will bring us together where there is no more parting.
I love people. Everybody. I love them, I think, as a stamp collector loves his collection. Every story, every incident, every bit of conversation is raw material for me. My love's not impersonal yet not wholly subjective either. I would like to be everyone, a cripple, a dying man, a whore, and then come back to write about my thoughts, my emotions, as that person. But I am not omniscient. I have to live my life, and it is the only one I'll ever have. And you cannot regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time.
You are beautiful inside and outside, through and through, and I love you completely. Desperately. With every inch of my heart and soul, and I always will to my dying day.
I now reckon upon a speedy dissolution. I have suffered very little pain from my disorder; and what is more strange have, notwithstanding the great decline of my person, never suffered a moment's abatement of spirits; insomuch that were I to name the period of my life which I should most choose to pass over again, I might be tempted to point to this later period. I possess the same ardour as ever in study, and the same gaiety in company; I consider, besides, that a man of sixty-five, by dying, cuts off only a few years of infirmities; and though I see many symptoms of my literary reputation's breaking out at last with additional lustre, I know that I could have but few years to enjoy it. It is difficult to be more detached from life than I am at present. "To conclude historically with my own character, I am, or rather was (for that is the style I must now use in speaking of myself); I was, I say, a man of mild dispositions, of command of temper, of an open, social, and cheerful humour, capable of attachment, but little susceptible of enmity, and of great moderation in all my passions. Even my love of literary fame, my ruling passion, never soured my temper, notwithstanding my frequent disappointments. My company was not unacceptable to the young and careless, as well as to the studious and literary; and as I took a particular pleasure in the company of modest women, I had no reason to be displeased with the reception I met with from them. In a word, though most men any wise eminent, have found reason to complain of calumny, I never was touched or even attacked by her baleful tooth; and though I wantonly exposed myself to the rage of both civil and religious factions, they seemed to be disarmed in my behalf of their wonted fury. My friends never had occasion to vindicate any one circumstance of my character and conduct; not but that the zealots, we may well suppose, would have been glad to invent and propagate any story to my disadvantage, but they could never find any which they thought would wear the face of probability. I cannot say there is no vanity in making this funeral oration of myself, but I hope it is not a misplaced one; and this is a matter of fact which is easily cleared and ascertained.
To be a member, is to have neither life, being, nor movement save by the spirit of the body, and for the body; the separate member, seeing no longer the body to which it belongs, has only a waning and dying existence. Yet it believes it is a whole, and seeing not the body on which it depends, it believes it depends only on self and wills to constitute itself both centre and body. But not having in itself a principle of life, it only goes astray, and is astonished in the uncertainty of its being; fully aware that it is not a body, yet not seeing that it is a member of a body. Then when at last it arrives at the knowledge of self, it has returned as it were to its own home, and loves itself only for the body's sake, bewailing that in the past it has gone astray.
Women in love consist of a little sighing, a little crying, a little dying</p> -- and a good deal of lying. -- Ansey
Falling in love is a lot like dying. You never get to do it enough to become good at it.
"Listen, Alyosha," Ivan began in a resolute voice, "if I am really able to care for the sticky little leaves I shall only love them, remembering you. It's enough for me that you are somewhere here, and I shan't lose my desire for life yet. Is that enough for you? Take it as a declaration of love if you like. And now you go to the right and I to the left. And it's enough, do you hear, enough. I mean even if I don't go away to-morrow (I think I certainly shall go) and we meet again, don't say a word more on these subjects. I beg that particularly. And about Dmitri too, I ask you specially, never speak to me again," he added, with sudden irritation; "it's all exhausted, it has all been said over and over again, hasn't it? And I'll make you one promise in return for it. When at thirty, I want to 'dash the cup to the ground,' wherever I may be I'll come to have one more talk with you, even though it were from America, you may be sure of that. I'll come on purpose. It will be very interesting to have a look at you, to see what you'll be by that time. It's rather a solemn promise, you see. And we really may be parting for seven years or ten. Come, go now to your Pater Seraphicus, he is dying. If he dies without you, you will be angry with me for having kept you. Good-by, kiss me once more; that's right, now go."
Princess Mary heard him and did not understand how he could say such a thing. He, the sensitive, tender Prince Andrew, how could he say that, before her whom he loved and who loved him? Had he expected to live he could not have said those words in that offensively cold tone. If he had not known that he was dying, how could he have failed to pity her and how could he speak like that in her presence? The only explanation was that he was indifferent, because something else, much more important, had been revealed to him.
"What I ought to have done, and what every one would have done in my place. Everywhere the last requests of a dying man are sacred; but with a sailor the last requests of his superior are commands. I sailed for the Island of Elba, where I arrived the next day; I ordered everybody to remain on board, and went on shore alone. As I had expected, I found some difficulty in obtaining access to the grand-marshal; but I sent the ring I had received from the captain to him, and was instantly admitted. He questioned me concerning Captain Leclere's death; and, as the latter had told me, gave me a letter to carry on to a person in Paris. I undertook it because it was what my captain had bade me do. I landed here, regulated the affairs of the vessel, and hastened to visit my affianced bride, whom I found more lovely than ever. Thanks to M. Morrel, all the forms were got over; in a word I was, as I told you, at my marriage-feast; and I should have been married in an hour, and to-morrow I intended to start for Paris, had I not been arrested on this charge which you as well as I now see to be unjust."
"Hush, Jane! you think too much of the love of human beings; you are too impulsive, too vehement; the sovereign hand that created your frame, and put life into it, has provided you with other resources than your feeble self, or than creatures feeble as you. Besides this earth, and besides the race of men, there is an invisible world and a kingdom of spirits: that world is round us, for it is everywhere; and those spirits watch us, for they are commissioned to guard us; and if we were dying in pain and shame, if scorn smote us on all sides, and hatred crushed us, angels see our tortures, recognise our innocence (if innocent we be: as I know you are of this charge which Mr. Brocklehurst has weakly and pompously repeated at second-hand from Mrs. Reed; for I read a sincere nature in your ardent eyes and on your clear front), and God waits only the separation of spirit from flesh to crown us with a full reward. Why, then, should we ever sink overwhelmed with distress, when life is so soon over, and death is so certain an entrance to happiness--to glory?"
Minerva, now, Goddess cærulean-eyed, Prompted Icarius' daughter, the discrete Penelope, with bow and rings to prove Her suitors in Ulysses' courts, a game Terrible in conclusion to them all. First, taking in her hand the brazen key Well-forged, and fitted with an iv'ry grasp, Attended by the women of her train She sought her inmost chamber, the recess In which she kept the treasures of her Lord, His brass, his gold, and steel elaborate. Here lay his stubborn bow, and quiver fill'd With num'rous shafts, a fatal store. That bow He had received and quiver from the hand Of godlike Iphitus Eurytides, Whom, in Messenia, in the house he met Of brave Orsilochus. Ulysses came Demanding payment of arrearage due From all that land; for a Messenian fleet Had borne from Ithaca three hundred sheep, With all their shepherds; for which cause, ere yet Adult, he voyaged to that distant shore, Deputed by his sire, and by the Chiefs Of Ithaca, to make the just demand. But Iphitus had thither come to seek Twelve mares and twelve mule colts which he had lost, A search that cost him soon a bloody death. For, coming to the house of Hercules The valiant task-performing son of Jove, He perish'd there, slain by his cruel host Who, heedless of heav'n's wrath, and of the rights Of his own board, first fed, then slaughter'd him; For in _his_ house the mares and colts were hidden. He, therefore, occupied in that concern, Meeting Ulysses there, gave him the bow Which, erst, huge Eurytus had borne, and which Himself had from his dying sire received. Ulysses, in return, on him bestowed A spear and sword, pledges of future love And hospitality; but never more They met each other at the friendly board, For, ere that hour arrived, the son of Jove Slew his own guest, the godlike Iphitus. Thus came the bow into Ulysses' hands, Which, never in his gallant barks he bore To battle with him, (though he used it oft In times of peace) but left it safely stored At home, a dear memorial of his friend.
"What! It is as if I were glad of a chance to take advantage of his being alone and despondent! A strange face may seem unpleasant or painful to him at this moment of sorrow; besides, what can I say to him now, when my heart fails me and my mouth feels dry at the mere sight of him?" Not one of the innumerable speeches addressed to the Emperor that he had composed in his imagination could he now recall. Those speeches were intended for quite other conditions, they were for the most part to be spoken at a moment of victory and triumph, generally when he was dying of wounds and the sovereign had thanked him for heroic deeds, and while dying he expressed the love his actions had proved.
I boast me sprung from ancestry renown'd In spacious Crete; son of a wealthy sire, Who other sons train'd num'rous in his house, Born of his wedded wife; but he begat Me on his purchased concubine, whom yet Dear as his other sons in wedlock born Castor Hylacides esteem'd and lov'd, For him I boast my father. Him in Crete, While yet he liv'd, all reverenc'd as a God, So rich, so prosp'rous, and so blest was he With sons of highest praise. But death, the doom Of all, him bore to Pluto's drear abode, And his illustrious sons among themselves Portion'd his goods by lot; to me, indeed, They gave a dwelling, and but little more, Yet, for my virtuous qualities, I won A wealthy bride, for I was neither vain Nor base, forlorn as thou perceiv'st me now. But thou canst guess, I judge, viewing the straw What once was in the ear. Ah! I have borne Much tribulation; heap'd and heavy woes. Courage and phalanx-breaking might had I From Mars and Pallas; at what time I drew, (Planning some dread exploit) an ambush forth Of our most valiant Chiefs, no boding fears Of death seized _me_, but foremost far of all I sprang to fight, and pierced the flying foe. Such was I once in arms. But household toils Sustain'd for children's sake, and carking cares T' enrich a family, were not for me. My pleasures were the gallant bark, the din Of battle, the smooth spear and glitt'ring shaft, Objects of dread to others, but which me The Gods disposed to love and to enjoy. Thus diff'rent minds are diff'rently amused; For ere Achaia's fleet had sailed to Troy, Nine times was I commander of an host Embark'd against a foreign foe, and found In all those enterprizes great success. From the whole booty, first, what pleased me most Chusing, and sharing also much by lot I rapidly grew rich, and had thenceforth Among the Cretans rev'rence and respect. But when loud-thund'ring Jove that voyage dire Ordain'd, which loos'd the knees of many a Greek, Then, to Idomeneus and me they gave The charge of all their fleet, which how to avoid We found not, so importunate the cry Of the whole host impell'd us to the task. There fought we nine long years, and in the tenth (Priam's proud city pillag'd) steer'd again Our galleys homeward, which the Gods dispersed. Then was it that deep-planning Jove devised For me much evil. One short month, no more, I gave to joys domestic, in my wife Happy, and in my babes, and in my wealth, When the desire seiz'd me with sev'ral ships Well-rigg'd, and furnish'd all with gallant crews, To sail for Ægypt; nine I fitted forth, To which stout mariners assembled fast. Six days the chosen partners of my voyage Feasted, to whom I num'rous victims gave For sacrifice, and for their own regale. Embarking on the sev'nth from spacious Crete, Before a clear breeze prosp'rous from the North We glided easily along, as down A river's stream; nor one of all my ships Damage incurr'd, but healthy and at ease We sat, while gales well-managed urged us on. The fifth day thence, smooth-flowing Nile we reach'd, And safe I moor'd in the Ægyptian stream. Then, charging all my mariners to keep Strict watch for preservation of the ships, I order'd spies into the hill-tops; but they Under the impulse of a spirit rash And hot for quarrel, the well-cultur'd fields Pillaged of the Ægyptians, captive led Their wives and little ones, and slew the men. Soon was the city alarm'd, and at the cry Down came the citizens, by dawn of day, With horse and foot, and with the gleam of arms Filling the plain. Then Jove with panic dread Struck all my people; none found courage more To stand, for mischiefs swarm'd on ev'ry side. There, num'rous by the glittering spear we fell Slaughter'd, while others they conducted thence Alive to servitude. But Jove himself My bosom with this thought inspired, (I would That, dying, I had first fulfill'd my fate In Ægypt, for new woes were yet to come!) Loosing my brazen casque, and slipping off My buckler, there I left them on the field, Then cast my spear away, and seeking, next, The chariot of the sov'reign, clasp'd his knees, And kiss'd them. He, by my submission moved, Deliver'd me, and to his chariot-seat Raising, convey'd me weeping to his home. With many an ashen spear his warriors sought To slay me, (for they now grew fiery wroth) But he, through fear of hospitable Jove, Chief punisher of wrong, saved me alive. Sev'n years I there abode, and much amass'd Among the Ægyptians, gifted by them all; But, in the eighth revolving year, arrived A shrewd Phœnician, in all fraud adept, Hungry, and who had num'rous harm'd before, By whom I also was cajoled, and lured T' attend him to Phœnicia, where his house And his possessions lay; there I abode A year complete his inmate; but (the days And months accomplish'd of the rolling year, And the new seasons ent'ring on their course) To Lybia then, on board his bark, by wiles He won me with him, partner of the freight Profess'd, but destin'd secretly to sale, That he might profit largely by my price. Not unsuspicious, yet constrain'd to go, With this man I embark'd. A cloudless gale Propitious blowing from the North, our ship Ran right before it through the middle sea, In the offing over Crete; but adverse Jove Destruction plann'd for them and death the while. For, Crete now left afar, and other land Appearing none, but sky alone and sea, Right o'er the hollow bark Saturnian Jove A cloud cærulean hung, dark'ning the Deep. Then, thund'ring oft, he hurl'd into the bark His bolts; she smitten by the fires of Jove, Quaked all her length; with sulphur fill'd she reek'd, And, o'er her sides precipitated, plunged Like gulls the crew, forbidden by that stroke Of wrath divine to hope their country more. But Jove himself, when I had cast away All hope of life, conducted to my arms The strong tall mast, that I might yet escape. Around that beam I clung, driving before The stormy blast. Nine days complete I drove, And, on the tenth dark night, the rolling flood Immense convey'd me to Thesprotia's shore. There me the Hero Phidon, gen'rous King Of the Thesprotians, freely entertained; For his own son discov'ring me with toil Exhausted and with cold, raised me, and thence Led me humanely to his father's house, Who cherish'd me, and gave me fresh attire. There heard I of Ulysses, whom himself Had entertain'd, he said, on his return To his own land; he shew'd me also gold, Brass, and bright steel elab'rate, whatsoe'er Ulysses had amass'd, a store to feed A less illustrious family than his To the tenth generation, so immense His treasures in the royal palace lay. Himself, he said, was to Dodona gone, There, from the tow'ring oaks of Jove to ask Counsel divine, if openly to land (After long absence) in his opulent realm Of Ithaca, be best, or in disguise. To me the monarch swore, in his own hall Pouring libation, that the ship was launch'd, And the crew ready for his conduct home. But me he first dismiss'd, for, as it chanced, A ship lay there of the Thesprotians, bound To green Dulichium's isle. He bade the crew Bear me to King Acastus with all speed; But them far other thoughts pleased more, and thoughts Of harm to me, that I might yet be plunged In deeper gulphs of woe than I had known. For, when the billow-cleaving bark had left The land remote, framing, combined, a plot Against my liberty, they stripp'd my vest And mantle, and this tatter'd raiment foul Gave me instead, which thy own eyes behold. At even-tide reaching the cultur'd coast Of Ithaca, they left me bound on board With tackle of the bark, and quitting ship Themselves, made hasty supper on the shore. But me, meantime, the Gods easily loos'd By their own pow'r, when, with wrapper vile Around my brows, sliding into the sea At the ship's stern, I lay'd me on the flood. With both hands oaring thence my course, I swam Till past all ken of theirs; then landing where Thick covert of luxuriant trees I mark'd, Close couchant down I lay; they mutt'ring loud, Paced to and fro, but deeming farther search Unprofitable, soon embark'd again. Thus baffling all their search with ease, the Gods Conceal'd and led me thence to the abode Of a wise man, dooming me still to live.
Morrel was, in fact, very happy. M. Noirtier had just sent for him, and he was in such haste to know the reason of his doing so that he had not stopped to take a cab, placing infinitely more dependence on his own two legs than on the four legs of a cab-horse. He had therefore set off at a furious rate from the Rue Meslay, and was hastening with rapid strides in the direction of the Faubourg Saint-Honore. Morrel advanced with a firm, manly tread, and poor Barrois followed him as he best might. Morrel was only thirty-one, Barrois was sixty years of age; Morrel was deeply in love, and Barrois was dying with heat and exertion. These two men, thus opposed in age and interests, resembled two parts of a triangle, presenting the extremes of separation, yet nevertheless possessing their point of union. This point of union was Noirtier, and it was he who had just sent for Morrel, with the request that the latter would lose no time in coming to him--a command which Morrel obeyed to the letter, to the great discomfiture of Barrois. On arriving at the house, Morrel was not even out of breath, for love lends wings to our desires; but Barrois, who had long forgotten what it was to love, was sorely fatigued by the expedition he had been constrained to use.