It’s as if all the knowledge I’ve soaked in during the past months has coalesced and lifted me to a peak of light and understanding. This is beauty, love, and truth all rolled into one. This is joy.
Who ne'er knew joy but friendship might divide, Or gave his father grief but when he died.
No greater grief than to remember days Of joy when misery is at hand.
See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds, With joy and love triumphing.
Everything human is pathetic. The secret source of humor itself is not joy but sorrow. There is no humor in heaven.
And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy because We have been glad of yore.
Home should be an oratorio of the memory, singing to all our after life melodies and harmonies of old-remembered joy.
Grief should be / Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate, / Conforming, cleansing, raising, making free.
Dreams in their development have breath / And tears and torture and the touch of joy; / They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts; / They take a weight from off our waking toils; / They do divide our being; they become a portion of ourselves as of our time, / And look like heralds of eternity.
The best laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft a-gley; And leave us naught but grief and pain For promised joy.
Every now and then a clear harmonic cry gave new suggestions of a tune that would someday be the only tune in the world and would raise men's souls to joy.
The very society of joy redoubles it, so that, whilst it lights upon my friend, it rebounds upon myself, and the brighter his candle burns the more easily will it light mine.
They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.
There is no wealth but life--life, including all its powers of love, of joy, and of admiration.
Find out men's wants and will, / And meet them there. All worldly joys go less / To the one joy of doing kindnesses.
Let fate do her worst; there are moments of joy, / Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy; / Which come in the nighttime of sorrow and care, / And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
This world is all a fleeting show, For man's illusion given; The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, Deceitful shine, deceitful flow,-- There 's nothing true but Heaven.
Oh stay! oh stay! Joy so seldom weaves a chain Like this to-night, that oh 't is pain To break its links so soon.
~Hand.~--Other parts of the body assist the speaker, but these speak themselves. By them we ask, we promise, we invoke, we dismiss, we threaten, we entreat, we deprecate; we express fear, joy, grief, our doubts, our assent, our penitence; we show moderation, profusion; we mark number and time.--_Quintilian._
Poetry itself is strength and joy, whether it be crowned by all mankind, or left alone in its own magic hermitage.
It's the great mystery of human life that old grief passes gradually into quiet tender joy.
'T is a little thing To give a cup of water; yet its draught Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips, May give a shock of pleasure to the frame More exquisite than when nectarean juice Renews the life of joy in happiest hours.
No man — prince, peasant, pope, — has all the light, who says else is a mountebank. I claim no private lien on truth, only a liberty to seek it, prove it in debate, and to be wrong a thousand times to reach a single rightness. It is that liberty they fear. They want us to be driven to God like sheep, not running to him like lovers, shouting joy!
In granting and in refusing, in joy and in sorrow, in liking and in disliking, good men, because of their own likeness, show mercy unto all things which have life.
You will find rest unto your souls when first you take on you the yoke of Christ, but joy only when you have borne it as long as He wills.
From childhood's hour I have not been As others were I have not seen As others saw I could not bring My passions from a common spring From the same source I have not taken My sorrow I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone And all I lov'd I lov'd alone.
The heart knoweth his own bitterness; and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy.
The world is a forest of verdant possibility. No one person controls my happiness. No one person is the source of my joy. I am rooted in universal flow. My needs for love and affection are met by many sources. I am blessed by the ability to receive love through many channels. I open my heart to the love that is offered to me by multiple sources. My heart is a mountain meadow fed by many streams.
Silence is the perfectest herald of joy: I were but little happy, if I could say how much.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever; Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness.
My lovely living boy, My hope, my hap, my love, my life, my joy.
Whate'er my future years may be: / Let joy or grief my fate betide; / Be still an Eden bright to me / My own, my own fireside!
Schmendrick stepped out into the open and said a few words. They were short words, undistinguished either by melody or harshness, and Schmendrick himself could not hear them for the Red Bull's dreadful bawling. But he knew what they meant, and he knew exactly how to say them, and he knew that he could say them again when he wanted to, in the same way or in a different way. Now he spoke them gently and with joy, and as did so he felt his immortality fall from him like an armour, or like a shroud.
Some people come into our lives, leave footprints on our hearts, and we are never the same. No one feels another's grief, no one understands another's joy. People imagine that they can reach one another. In reality they only pass each other by.
We part with true joy almost more lightly than with a beautiful dream.
Christianity wants nothing so much in the world as sunny people, and the old are hungrier for love than for bread, and the Oil of Joy is very cheap, and if you can help the poor on with a Garment of Praise it will be better for them than blankets. The Programme of Christianity, p. 33.
Great joy is only earned by great exertion.
There is in this world infinitely more joy than pain to be shared, if you will only take your share when it is set before you.
To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget.
It was so fast. So fast. One minute she was reaching, reaching, almost touching the center of ecstasy itself. The next she was convulsing with something so hot with throbbing pleasure that it was almost pain. An inhuman cry tore out of her throat as she went up like a Chinese rocket and exploded into a million flaming pieces of pure joy.
And taste The melancholy joy of evils past: For he who much has suffer'd, much will know.
It is certainly not then — not in dreams — but when one is wide awake, at moments of robust joy and achievement, on the highest terrace of consciousness, that mortality has a chance to peer beyond its own limits, from the mast, from the past and its castle tower. And although nothing much can be seen through the mist, there is somehow the blissful feeling that one is looking in the right direction.
Silence is the perfectest herald of joy; I were but little happy, if I could say how much.
Who is the happiest of men? He who values the merits of others, and in their pleasure takes joy, even as though 'twere his own.
So far from being dishonest, the distinction between a higher and a lower form of religion is in truth the only honest recognition of the realities of life. If to a philosophic mind religion is a spiritual love of God, and the joy of his full consciousness of the spirit of God within him, what meaning can such words convey to the millions of human beings who nevertheless want a religion, a positive, authoritative, or revealed religion, to teach them that there is a God, and that His commands must be obeyed without questioning?
The saints owed to their confidence in God that unalterable tranquillity of soul, which procured their perpetual joy and peace, even in the midst of adversities.--ST. ALPHONSUS.
It seems to me so ungrateful to allow one moment to pass that is not full of joy and happiness, and devotion to Him who gives us all this richly to enjoy. The clouds will come, they must come, but they ought never to be of our own making.
The tear of joy is a pearl of the first water; the mourning tear, only of the second.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can hold, That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic, Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt: The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven; And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name. Such tricks hath strong imagination, That if it would but apprehend some joy, It comprehends some bringer of that joy; Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear!
The heart knoweth his own bitterness; and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy.
Shared pain is lessened; shared joy, increased thus do we refute entropy.
Unfold your days with me and lose your sense of panic and loss. This earth is abundant. It holds joy for you, and contentment. Bring me your restless heart. Allow me to gentle your soul.
Look not on pleasures as they come, but go. / Defer not the least virtue; life's poor span / Make not an ell by trifling in thy woe. / If thou do ill, the joy fades, not the pains; / If well, the pain doth fade, the joy remains.
Les grands seigneurs ont des plaisirs, le peuple a de la joie=--High people have pleasures, common people have joy.
Consciousness expresses itself through creation. This world we live in is the dance of the Creator. Dancers come and go in the twinkling of an eye but the dance lives on. On many an occasion when I am dancing, I have felt touched by something sacred. In those moments, I felt my spirit soar and become one with everything that exists. I become the stars and the moon. I become the lover and the beloved. I become the victor and the vanquished. I become the master and the slave. I become the singer and the song. I become the knower and the known. I keep on dancing and then, it is the eternal dance of creation. The Creator and the creation merge into one wholeness of joy. I keep on dancing — until there is only … the dance.
It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen of France, then the Dauphiness, at Versailles; and surely never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move in,--glittering like the morning star full of life and splendour and joy. . . . Little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant men,--in a nation of men of honour and of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult. But the age of chivalry is gone; that of sophisters, economists, and calculators has succeeded.
Great grief makes those sacred upon whom its hand is laid. Joy may elevate, ambition glorify, but sorrow alone can consecrate.
My joy in friends, those sacred people, is my consolation.
The morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy.
Happiness happens when you fit with your life, when you fit so harmoniously that whatsoever you are doing is your joy.
It’s probably a class for guidance counselors only—How to Emit Inappropriate Joy in the Face of Adolescent Horror. I’m fairly certain they don’t make teachers take it, because they don’t even bother to pretend. Half of them are as miserable as I am.
My grief lies onward and my joy behind.
Depressingly hilarious and inspirationally cynical, Cat’s Cradle was a joy to behold, and the icy finale caused my jaw to drop to the floor, much to the apparent laughter of some nearby pre-teens, bless their little hearts.
There are two winds mentioned in this beautiful prayer. God may send either or both, as seemeth Him good. He may send the north wind of conviction, to bring us to repentance, or He may send the south wind of love, to melt us into gratitude and holy joy. If we often require the sharp blasts of trial to develop our graces, do we not also need the warm south breezes of His mercy? Do we not need the new sense of Christ's presence in our hearts and the joys of the Holy Ghost? Do we not need to be melted, yes, to be overpowered by the love of Jesus?--_Theodore Cuyler._
Base Envy withers at another's joy, And hates that excellence it cannot reach.
Profound joy has more of severity than gaiety in it.
O woman! lovely woman! Nature made thee To temper man: we had been brutes without you. Angels are painted fair, to look like you: There 's in you all that we believe of heaven,-- Amazing brightness, purity, and truth, Eternal joy, and everlasting love.
Sorrows remembered sweeten present joy.
Every inch of joy has an ell of annoy.
Freude hat mir Gott gegeben=--God has to me given joy.
Relationship At times I feel an ache, an inner loneliness that cripples me. But I forget about God. I forget that God loves me, and actually wants a relationship with me. A Christian friend of mine told me that God has emotions. Not that he’s defensive and unstable, but he loves me and is sad when I turn away from him. He feels sadness when I’m hurt, and feels love and joy at my happiness. I matter to him. He isn’t an emotionless deity, watching from afar and not caring. He doesn’t go about his plans without caring if I’m involved. What I do matters to him. What I say matters. How I treat him. If I spend time with him. He loves me, and just as I would be hurt if someone I love rejected me, he’s hurt when I reject him. Just as I feel sad when someone I love is sad, or I’m in pain when they’re upset — God’s the same. He aches when I’m upset. He actually loves me. He cries when I cry. If only I could see it. Any pain I feel would be diminished in light of God’s love. He cares about every part of me. If only I could see it.
Geteilte Freud' ist doppelt Freude=--Joy shared is joy doubled.
When the power of imparting joy / Is equal to the will, the human soul / Requires no other heaven.
True joy is a serene and sober motion; and they are miserably out, that take laughing for rejoicing; the seat of it is within, and there is no cheerfulness like the resolutions of a brave mind that has fortune under its feet.
Francis de Sales, a sixteenth-century bishop in France, wrote, “Each of us has his own endowment from God, one to live in this way, another in that. It is an impertinence, then, to try to find out why St. Paul was not given St. Peter’s grace, or St. Peter given St. Paul’s. There is only one answer to such questions: the Church is a garden patterned with countless flowers, so there must be a variety of sizes, colors, scents — of perfections, after all. Each has its value, its charm, its joy; while the whole vast cluster of these variations makes for beauty in its most graceful form.
What the present generation ought to learn, the young as well as the old, is spirit and perseverance to discover the beautiful, pleasure and joy in making it known, and resigning ourselves with grateful hearts to its enjoyment; in a word--love, in the old, true, eternal meaning of the word. Only sweep away the dust of self-conceit, the cobwebs of selfishness, the mud of envy, and the old type of humanity will soon reappear, as it was when it could still 'embrace millions.' The love of mankind, the true fountain of all humanity, is still there; it can never be quite choked up. He who can descend into this fountain of youth, who can again recover himself, who can again be that which he was by nature, loves the beautiful wherever he finds it; he understands enjoyment and enthusiasm, in the few quiet hours which he can win for himself in the noisy, deafening hurry of the times in which we live.
Not in pulling down, but in building up, does man find pure joy.
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever; / Its loveliness increases; it will never / Pass into nothingness.
Only by joy and sorrow does a man know anything about himself and his destiny, learn what he ought to seek and what to shun.
Spread joy. Become a beacon of hope and love. Settle down your differences and talk it out. Don’t let grievances spoil your faith and in turn spoil your heart.
Show respect to all people and grovel to none. When you arise in the morning give thanks for the food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies only in yourself. Abuse no one and no thing, for abuse turns the wise ones to fools and robs the spirit of its vision.
And the stern joy which warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel.
Pleasures lie thickest where no pleasures seem; / There's not a leaf that falls upon the ground / But holds some joy of silence or of sound, / Some sprite begotten of a summer dream.
A mother's pride, a father's joy.
Research brings order to the world. It makes things clearer, helps us to understand things. Could there be any more joy than that? Did you ever put together puzzles as a child? The universe is a puzzle with billions of pieces. Putting it together is society's highest shared responsibility, our right and our joy - and not only that, it is what separates us from the whole rest of creation, with a few possible exceptions.
One inch of joy surmounts of grief a span, Because to laugh is proper to the man.
No joy so great but runneth to an end; / No hap so hard but may in time amend.
How small of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure! Still to ourselves in every place consigned, Our own felicity we make or find. With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.
Some seek good in authority, others in research and knowledge, others in pleasure. Others, who indeed are nearer the truth, have considered it necessary that the universal good which all men desire should not consist in any of those particular matters which can only be possessed by one, and which if once shared, afflict their possessor more by the want of what he has not, than they gladden him by the joy of what he has. They have apprehended that the true good should be such as all may possess at once, without diminution, and without envy, and that which none can lose against his will. And their reason is that this desire being natural to man, since it exists necessarily in all, and that all must have it, they conclude from it....
It is joy to the Christian to know that the plummet is now in the hands of our great Zerubbabel, and that when He comes forth, the world's misrule shall be over. The false standards and false estimates of men shall be swept away. The standards of "expediency," of "conscience," of "every man thinking as he likes, if he is only _sincere_"--these, and all similar refuges of lies shall be like a spider's web. The measure of all things will be Christ, and Christ the Measurer of all things.
This world is all a fleeting show, / For man's illusion given: / The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, / Deceitful shine, deceitful flow, / There's nothing true but heaven.
We should render thanks to God for having produced this temporal light, which is the smile of heaven and joy of the world, spreading it like a cloth of gold over the face of the air and earth, and lighting it as a torch, by which we might behold his works.--_Caussin._
Schlagt die Zeit dir manche Wunde, / Manche Freude bringt ihr Lauf; / Aber eine sel'ge Stunde / Wiegt ein Jahr von Schmerzen auf=--If time inflicts on thee many a wound, many a joy brings it too in its course; and one short hour of bliss outweighs a year of pains.
I have seen A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract Of inland ground, applying to his ear The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell, To which, in silence hushed, his very soul Listened intensely; and his countenance soon Brightened with joy, for from within were heard Murmurings, whereby the monitor expressed Mysterious union with his native sea.
A famous man is Robin Hood, The English ballad-singer's joy.
Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind, But leave, oh leave the light of Hope behind! What though my winged hours of bliss have been Like angel visits, few and far between.
Be our joy three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; / Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe!
That it was not one man who said it, but an infinity of men, and a whole nation lasting for four thousand years, prophesying, and created for that very purpose.... So I stretch out my arms to my Redeemer, who having been foretold for four thousand years, has come to suffer and to die for me on earth at the time and under all the circumstances which had been foretold, and by his grace I await death in peace, in the hope of being eternally united to him; yet I live with joy, whether in the good which it pleases him to bestow on me, or in the ill which he sends for my good, and which he has taught me to bear by his example.
There is no riches above a sound body, and no joy above the joy of the heart.
For His anger is but for a moment, His favor is for a lifetime; weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning.
Oh, there is something in marriage like the veil of the temple of old, / That screened the Holy of Holies with blue and purple and gold; / Something that makes a chamber where none but the one may come, / A sacredness too, and a silence, where joy that is deepest is dumb.
The joy of a peaceful conscience is sown in tears.
~Land.~--There is a distinct joy in owning land, unlike that which you have in money, in houses, in books, pictures, or anything else which men have devised. Personal property brings you into society with men. But land is a part of God's estate in the globe; and when a parcel of ground is deeded to you, and you walk over it, and call it your own, it seems as if you had come into partnership with the original Proprietor of the earth.--_Beecher._
A thing of beauty is a joy forever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
It is in those acts called trivialities that the seeds of joy are forever wasted, until men and women look round with haggard faces at the devastation their own waste has made, and say, the earth bears no harvest of sweetness--calling their denial knowledge.--_George Eliot._