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Those who would attain to any marked degree of excellence in a chosen pursuit must work, and work hard for it, prince or peasant.

Bayard Taylor

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Bayard Taylor
Age: 53 †
Born: 1825
Born: January 11
Died: 1878
Died: December 19
Critic
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Explorer
Journalist
Literary Critic
Novelist
Poet
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Must
Prince
Work
Perseverance
Would
Excellence
Pursuit
Degree
Peasant
Chosen
Peasants
Degrees
Marked
Hard
Attain

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Above Coblentz almost every mountain has a ruin and a legend. One feels everywhere the spirit of the past, and its stirring recollections come back upon the mind with irresistible force.
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Although Damascus is considered the oldest city in the world, the date of its foundation going beyond tradition, there are very few relics of antiquity in or near it.
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Higher than the perfect song For which love longeth, Is the tender fear of wrong, That never wrongeth.
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Opportunity is rare, and a wise man will never let it go by him.
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Could one live on the sense of beauty alone, exempt from the necessity of 'creature comforts,' a sea-voyage would be delightful.
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An enthusiastic desire of visiting the Old World haunted me from early childhood. I cherished a presentiment, amounting almost to belief, that I should one day behold the scenes, among which my fancy had so long wandered.
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The most annoying of all blockheads is a well-read fool.
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He teaches best, Who feels the hearts of all men in his breast, And knows their strength or weakness through his own.
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The Prophet's words were true The mouth of Ali is the golden door Of Wisdom. When his friends to Ali bore These words, he smiled and said: And should they ask The same until my dying day, the task Were easy for the stream from Wisdom's well, Which God supplies, is inexhaustible.
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But still I dream that somewhere there must be The spirit of a child that waits for me.
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Sometimes an hour of Fate's serenest weather Strikes through our changeful sky its coming beams Somewhere above us, in elusive ether, Waits the fulfilment of our dearest dreams.
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Swelling in anger or sparkling in glee.
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Departed suns their trails of splendor drew Across departed summers: whispers came From voices, long ago resolved again Into the primeval Silence, and we twain, Ghosts of our present selves, yet still the same, As in a spectral mirror wandered there.
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We follow and race In shifting chase, Over the boundless ocean-space! Who hath beheld when the race begun? Who shall behold it run?
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But who will watch my lilies, When their blossoms open white? By day the sun shall be sentry, And the moon and the stars by night!
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I love thee, I love but thee, With a love that shall not die.
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The maxims tell you to aim at perfection, which is well but it's unattainable, all the same.
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The healing of the world is in its nameless saints. Each separate star seems nothing, but a myriad scattered stars break up the night and make it beautiful.
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Sweeter than the stolen kiss Are the granted kisses
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Women are not apt to be won by the charms of verse.
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