Carv'd with figures strange and sweet, All made out of the carver's brain.
Let the singing singers With vocal voices, most vociferous, In sweet vociferation out-vociferize Even sound itself.
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._
Is the Beautiful without us, or is it not rather within us? What we call sweet and bitter is our own sweetness, our own bitterness, for nothing can be sweet or bitter without us. Is it not the same with the Beautiful? The world is like a rich mine, full of precious ore, but each man has to assay the ore for himself, before he knows what is gold and what is not. What, then, is the touchstone by which we assay the Beautiful? We have a touchstone for discovering the good. Whatever is unselfish is good. But--though nothing can be beautiful, except what is in some sense or other good, not everything that is good is also beautiful. What, then, is that something which, added to the good, makes it beautiful? It is a great mystery. It is so to us as it was to Plato. We must have gazed on the Beautiful in the dreams of childhood, or, it may be, in a former life, and now we look for it everywhere, but we can never find it,--never at least in all its brightness and fulness again, never as we remember it once as the vision of a half-forgotten dream. Nor do we all remember the same ideal--some poor creatures remember none at all.... The ideal, therefore, of what is beautiful is within us, that is all we know; how it came there we shall never know. It is certainly not of this life, else we could define it; but it underlies this life, else we could not feel it. Sometimes it meets us like a smile of Nature, sometimes like a glance of God; and if anything proves that there is a great past, and a great future, a Beyond, a higher world, a hidden life, it is our faith in the Beautiful.
How sad and bad and mad it was! But then, how it was sweet!
Thou, too curious ear, that fain / Wouldst thread the maze of Harmony, / Content thee with one simple strain, / ... Till thou art duly trained, and taught / The concord sweet of Love divine.
I fear no fate for you are my fate, my sweet.
Ah! quam dulce est meminisse=--Ah! how sweet it is to remember!
That which was bitter to endure may be sweet to remember.
Oh! Sweet Jesus! I can’t die now. I have a casserole in the oven!
La patience est amere, mais le fruit en est doux=--Patience is bitter, but it yields sweet fruit.
One soul was ours, one mind, one heart devoted, That, wisely doating, ask'd not why it doated. And ours the unknown joy, which knowing kills. But now I find how dear thou wert to me; That man is more than half of nature's treasure, Of that fair beauty which no eye can see, Of that sweet music which no ear can measure; And now the streams may sing for other's pleasure, The hills sleep on in their eternity.
Those evening bells! those evening bells! How many a tale their music tells Of youth and home, and that sweet time When last I heard their soothing chime!
Every white will have its black, / And every sweet its sour.
All hatred driven hence, The soul recovers radical innocence And learns at last that it is self-delighting, Self-appeasing, self-affrighting, And that its own sweet will is Heaven’s will; She can, though every face should scowl And every windy quarter howl Or every bellows burst, be happy still.
Someday you're gonna look back on this moment of your life as such a sweet time of grieving. You'll see that you were in mourning and your heart was broken, but your life was changing...
A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness.
He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading; Lofty and sour to them that loved him not, But to those men that sought him sweet as summer.
Laborum dulce lenimen=--The sweet soother of my toils.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! / Here will we sit and let the sounds of music / Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night / Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Light is, in reality, more awful than darkness; modesty more majestic than strength; and there is truer sublimity in the sweet joy of a child, or the sweet virtue of a maiden, than in the strength of Ant?us or the thunder-clouds of ?tna.
Raise thy heart and thy love toward the sweet and most holy cross, which soothes every pain!--ST. CATHERINE OF SIENA.
~Revenge.~--Revenge at first, though sweet, bitter ere long back on itself recoils.--_Milton._
Solitude sometimes is best society, / And short retirement urges sweet return.
For contemplation he and valour form'd, / For softness she and sweet attractive grace; / He for God only, she for God in him, / His fair large front and eye sublime declared.
Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.
Lyra Urbanica._ O give me the sweet shady side of Pall Mall!
The full soul loatheth a honeycomb; but to the hungry soul every bitter thing is sweet.
A line will take us hours maybe; Yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought, Our stitching and unstitching has been naught. Better go down upon your marrow-bones And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather; For to articulate sweet sounds together Is to work harder than all these, and yet Be thought an idler by the noisy set Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen The martyrs call the world.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives.
Good thoughts are blessed guests, and should be heartily welcomed, well fed, and much sought after. Like rose leaves, they give out a sweet smell if laid up in the jar of memory.--_Spurgeon._
Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.[209-3]
I am never merry when I hear sweet music.
By cool Siloam's shady rill How sweet the lily grows!
Some read books only with a view to find fault, while others read only to be taught; the former are like venomous spiders, extracting a poisonous quality, where the latter, like the bees, sip out a sweet and profitable juice.
What novelty is worth the sweet monotony where everything is known, and loved because it is known?--_George Eliot._
How small a part of time they share That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
Hebt mich das Gluck, so bin ich froh, / Und sing in dulci jubilo; / Senkt sich das Rad und quetscht mich nieder, / So denk' ich: nun, es hebt sich wieder=--When Fortune lifts me up, then am I glad and sing in sweet exultation; when she sinks down and lays me prostrate, then I begin to think, Now it will rise again.
Must is a hard nut to crack, but it has a sweet kernel.
Tho' lost to sight, to mem'ry dear Thou ever wilt remain; One only hope my heart can cheer,-- The hope to meet again. Oh fondly on the past I dwell, And oft recall those hours When, wand'ring down the shady dell, We gathered the wild-flowers. Yes, life then seem'd one pure delight, Tho' now each spot looks drear; Yet tho' thy smile be lost to sight, To mem'ry thou art dear. Oft in the tranquil hour of night, When stars illume the sky, I gaze upon each orb of light, And wish that thou wert by. I think upon that happy time, That time so fondly lov'd, When last we heard the sweet bells chime, As thro' the fields we rov'd. Yes, life then seem'd one pure delight, Tho' now each spot looks drear; Yet tho' thy smile be lost to sight, To mem'ry thou art dear.
Flowers never emit so sweet and strong a fragrance as before a storm. Beauteous soul! when a storm approaches thee be as fragrant as a sweet-smelling flower.--_Richter._
From his cradle / He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; / Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading; / Lofty and sour to them that loved him not, / But to those men who sought him, sweet as summer; / And to add greater honours to his age / Than man could give; he died fearing God.
The bits of wayside work are very sweet. Perhaps the odd bits, when all is done, will really come to more than the seemingly greater pieces! . . . It is nice to know that the King's servants are always really on duty, even while some can only stand and wait.--_Frances Ridley Havergal._
The world. Oh, the world is so sweet to the dying!--_Schiller._
Exilioque domos et dulcia limina mutant / Atque alio patriam qu?runt sub sole jacentem=--They exchange their home and sweet thresholds for exile, and seek under another sun another home.
Forte e l'aceto di vin dolce=--Strong is vinegar from sweet wine.
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy.
What 's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet.
What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd! How sweet their memory still! But they have left an aching void The world can never fill.
Virtue could see to do what virtue would By her own radiant light, though sun and moon Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom's self Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, Where with her best nurse Contemplation She plumes her feathers and lets grow her wings, That in the various bustle of resort Were all-to ruffled, and sometimes impair'd. He that has light within his own clear breast May sit i' th' centre and enjoy bright day; But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the midday sun.
Dulcis amor patri?, dulce videre suos=--Sweet is the love of country, sweet to see one's kindred.
On every thorn delightful wisdom grows; / In every rill a sweet instruction flows.
Joy wholly from without is false, precarious and short. Joy from within is like smelling the rose on the tree; it is more sweet, and fair, and lasting.
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!
The essential difference between a good and a bad education is this, that the former draws on the child to learn by making it sweet to him; the latter drives the child to learn, by making it sour to him if he does not.--_Charles Buxton._
Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun.
Sweets to the sweet: farewell!
One writes out of one thing only — one's own experience. Everything depends on how relentlessly one forces from this experience the last drop, sweet or bitter, it can possibly give. This is the only real concern of the artist, to recreate out of the disorder of life that order which is art.
Every excess causes a defect; every deficit, an excess. Every sweet has its sour; every evil, its good. Every faculty which is a receiver of pleasure has an equal penalty put on its abuse.
'T is sweet to think that where'er we rove We are sure to find something blissful and dear; And that when we 're far from the lips we love, We 've but to make love to the lips we are near.
As is the bud bit with an envious worm Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Your words are like notes of dying swans--/ Too sweet to last.
I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, And not have strew'd thy grave.
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will; Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!
Take heed of the vinegar of sweet wine.
All healthy things are sweet-tempered.
Let us remember that every act of mortification is a work for heaven. This thought will make all suffering and weariness sweet.--ST. ALPHONSUS.
Sunlight dances through the leaves Soft winds stir the sighing trees Lying in the warm grass Feel the sun upon your face Elven songs and endless nights Sweet wine and soft relaxing lights Time will never touch you Here in this enchanted place You feel there's something calling you You're wanting to return To where the misty mountains rise and friendly fires burn A place you can escape the world Where the dark lord cannot go Peace of mind and sanctuary by loud water's flow I've traveled now for many miles It feels so good to see the smiles of Friends who never left your mind When you were far away From the golden light of coming dawn Till the twilight where the sun is gone We treasure every season And every passing day We feel the coming of a new day Darkness gives way to light a new way Stop here for a while until the world, The world calls you away Yet you know I've had the feeling Standing with my senses reeling This is the place to grow old 'til I reach my final day.
Susser Wein giebt sauern Essig=--Sweet wine yields sour vinegar.
~Meditation.~--Chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy.--_Shakespeare._
I gaed a waefu' gate yestreen, / A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue; / I got my death frae twa sweet een, / Twa lovely een o' bonnie blue.
As sweet and musical As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair; And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony.
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.
For solitude sometimes is best society, / And short retirement urges sweet return.
Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken.
Ah, I believe Schacht. Only too willingly; that’s to say, I think what he says is absolutely true, for the world is incomprehensibly crass, tyrannical, moody, and cruel to sickly and sensitive people. Well, Schacht will stay here for the time being. We laughed at him a bit, when he arrived, that can’t be helped either, Schacht is young and after all can’t be allowed to think there are special degrees, advantages, methods, and considerations for him. He has now had his first disappointment, and I’m convinced that he’ll have twenty disappointments, one after the other. Life with its savage laws is in any case for certain people a succession of discouragements and terrifying bad impressions. People like Schacht are born to feel and suffer a continuous sense of aversion. He would like to admit and welcome things, but he just can’t. Hardness and lack of compassion strike him with tenfold force, he just feels them more acutely. Poor Schacht. He’s a child and he should be able to revel in melodies and bed himself in kind, soft, carefree things. For him there should be secret splashings and birdsong. Pale and delicate evening clouds should waft him away in the kingdom of Ah, What’s Happening to Me? His hands are made for light gestures, not for work. Before him breezes should blow, and behind him sweet, friendly voices should be whispering. His eyes should be allowed to remain blissfully closed, and Schacht should be allowed to go quietly to sleep again, after being wakened in the morning in the warm, sensuous cushions. For him there is, at root, no proper activity, for every activity is for him, the way he is, improper, unnatural, and unsuitable. Compared with Schacht I’m the trueblue rawboned laborer. Ah, he’ll be crushed, and one day he’ll die in a hospital. or he’ll perish, ruined in body and soul, inside one of our modern prisons.
Souls are made sweet not by taking the acid fluids out, but by putting something in--a great Love, a new Spirit--the Spirit of Christ. The Greatest Thing in the World.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard, are sweeter
For while a youth is lost in soaring thought, / And while a mind grows sweet and beautiful, / And while a spring-tide coming lights the earth, / And while a child, and while a flower is born, / And while one wrong cries for redress and finds / A soul to answer, still the world is young.
Modesty is the sweet song-bird which no open cage-door can tempt to flight.
How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start When memory plays an old tune on the heart!
Joy is the sweet voice, joy the luminous cloud. We in ourselves rejoice! And thence flows all that charms or ear or sight, All melodies the echoes of that voice, All colours a suffusion from that light.
All these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come.
The cup of life which God offers to our lips is not always sweet; ... but, sweet or bitter, it is ours to drink it without murmur or demur.
My country, 't is of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing: Land where my fathers died, Land of the pilgrims' pride, From every mountain-side Let freedom ring.
A rosebud set with little wilful thorns, And sweet as English air could make her, she.
Each of us, when our day's work is done, must seek our ideal, whether it be love or pinochle or lobster à la Newburg, or the sweet silence of the musty bookshelves.
There is great force hidden in a sweet command.
And hie him home, at evening's close, To sweet repast and calm repose.
Lang syne, in Eden's bonny yaird, / When youthfu' lovers first were pair'd, / And all the soul of love they shared, / The raptured hour, / Sweet on the fragrant flowery swaird, / In shady bower, / Then you, ye auld sneck-drawing= (latch-lifting) =dog, / Ye cam' to Paradise incog, / And play'd on man a cursed brogue, / (Black be your fa') / And gied the infant warld a shog= (shake), / ='Maist ruin'd a'.
Delivers in such apt and gracious words That aged ears play truant at his tales, And younger hearings are quite ravished; So sweet and voluble is his discourse.
O wise man! Give your wealth only to the worthy and never to others. The water of the sea received by the clouds is always sweet.
Sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.
For one heart beat the Heart was free and moved itself. O love, I who am lost and damned with words, Whose words are a business and an art, I have no words. These words, this poem, this Is all confusion and ignorance. But I know that coached by your sweet heart, My heart beat one free beat and sent Through all my flesh the blood of truth.
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd, / Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, / Raze out the written troubles of the brain? / And with some sweet oblivious antidote, / Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff / Which weighs upon the heart?
After all communion we dwell as upon islands, dotted over a great archipelago, each upon his little rock with the sea dashing between us; but the time comes when, if our hearts are set upon that great Lord whose presence makes us one, there shall be no more sea and all the isolated rocks shall be parts of a great continent . . . If we cultivate that sense of detachment from the present and of having our true affinities in the unseen, if we dwell here as strangers because our citizenship is in heaven, then death will not drag us away from our associates nor hunt us into a lonely land, but will bring us where closer bonds shall knit the "sweet societies" together, and the sheep shall couch close by one another because all gathered round the one Shepherd. Then many a tie shall be re-woven, and the solitary wanderer meet again the dear ones whom he had "loved long since and lost awhile."--_Alex. McLaren._
Dolci cose a vedere, e dolci inganni=--Things sweet to see, and sweet deceptions.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes; Flow gently, I 'll sing thee a song in thy praise.
They, sweet soul, that most impute a crime / Are pronest to it, and impute themselves, / Wanting the mental range; or low desire / Not to feel lowest makes them level all; / Yea, they would pare the mountain to the plain, / To leave an equal baseness.
Vendetta boccon di Dio=--Revenge is a sweet morsel for a god.
Though wickedness be sweet in his mouth, though he hide it under his tongue.
How sweet it is to hear one's own convictions from a stranger's mouth!
Dulcique animos novitate tenebo=--And I will hold your mind captive with sweet novelty.
There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet.
Guardati da aceto di vin dolce=--Beware of the vinegar of sweet wine.
They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet Quaff immortality and joy.
Like an Aeolian harp that wakes No certain air, but overtakes Far thought with music that it makes: Such seem'd the whisper at my side: "What is it thou knowest, sweet voice?" I cried. "A hidden hope," the voice replied: So heavenly-toned, that in that hour From out my sullen heart a power Broke, like the rainbow from the shower, To feel, altho' no tongue can prove That every cloud, that spreads above And veileth love, itself is love.
They govern the world, these sweet-lipped women, because beauty is the index of a larger fact than wisdom.
In families well ordered there is always one firm, sweet temper, which controls without seeming to dictate. The Greeks represented Persuasion as crowned.--_Bulwer-Lytton._
But life is sweet, though all that makes it sweet Lessen like sound of friends' departing feet; And Death is beautiful as feet of friend Coming with welcome at our journey's end. For me Fate gave, whate'er she else denied, A nature sloping to the southern side; I thank her for it, though when clouds arise Such natures double-darken gloomy skies.
Have you found your life distasteful? My life did, and does, smack sweet. Was your youth of pleasure wasteful? Mine I saved and hold complete. Do your joys with age diminish? When mine fail me, I 'll complain. Must in death your daylight finish? My sun sets to rise again.
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty.
We took sweet counsel together.
Labour has a bitter root but a sweet taste.
Rich the treasure, / Sweet the pleasure; / Sweet is pleasure after pain.
Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.--_Milton._
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh.
The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.
Don't be sweet, lest you be eaten up; don't be bitter, lest you be spewed out.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul, / Like seasoned timber, never gives: / But when the whole world turns to coal, / Then chiefly lives.
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here we will sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There 's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.