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And the wind that saddens, the sea that gladdens, Are singing the selfsame strain.

Bayard Taylor

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Bayard Taylor
Age: 53 †
Born: 1825
Born: January 11
Died: 1878
Died: December 19
Critic
Diplomat
Explorer
Journalist
Literary Critic
Novelist
Poet
Politician
Translator
Writer
Selfsame
Saddens
Strain
Sea
Singing
Wind
Pain
Gladdens

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Love is better than Fame.
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The most annoying of all blockheads is a well-read fool.
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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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Love's humility is love's true pride.
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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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Women are not apt to be won by the charms of verse.
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The bravest are the most tender the loving are the daring.
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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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Life lives only in success.
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Eccentricity is developed monomania.
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By wisdom wealth is won but riches purchased wisdom yet for none.
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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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It is an agreeable and yet a painful sense of novelty to stand for the first time in the midst of a people whose language and manners are different from one's own.
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Sweeter than the stolen kiss Are the granted kisses
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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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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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From the desert I come to thee, On a stallion shod with fire And the winds are left behind In the speed of my desire.
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I love thee, I love but thee, With a love that shall not die.
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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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Really,' thought I, 'we call Baltimore the 'Monumental City' for its two marble columns, and here is Edinburg with one at every street-corner!
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