And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, and the year smiles as it draws near its death.
From William C. Bryant
Weep not that the world changes - did it keep a stable, changeless state, it were cause indeed to weep.
Winning isn't everything, but it beats anything in second place.
Loveliest of lovely things are they on earth that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour is prized beyond the sculptured flower.
To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.
Eloquence is the poetry of prose.
Truth gets well if she is run over by a locomotive, while error dies of lockjaw if she scratches her finger.
Go forth under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings.
A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.
4 perspectives
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