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Alone each heart must cover up its dead Alone, through bitter toil, achieve its rest.

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
Solitude
Achieve
Dead
Rest
Alone
Must
Toil
Heart
Cover
Bitter

More quotes by Bayard Taylor

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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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Peace the offspring is of Power.
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Swelling in anger or sparkling in glee.
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Fame is what you have taken, / Character's what you give / When to this truth you waken, / Then you begin to live.
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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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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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Love is better than Fame.
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Opportunity is rare, and a wise man will never let it go by him.
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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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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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And the wind that saddens, the sea that gladdens, Are singing the selfsame strain.
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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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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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Eccentricity is developed monomania.
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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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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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There may come a day Which crowns Desire with gift, and Art with truth, And Love with bliss, and Life with wiser youth!
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Labor, you know, is prayer.
Bayard Taylor