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Beauty is God's handwriting — a wayside sacrament welcome it in every fair face, every fair sky, every fair flower, and thank for it Him.
Charles Kingsley
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Charles Kingsley
Age: 55 †
Born: 1819
Born: June 12
Died: 1875
Died: January 23
Cleric
Historian
Novelist
Poet
Professor
University Teacher
Writer
Devonshire
Canon Kingsley
Every
Welcome
Fairs
Fair
Flower
Beauty
Wayside
Face
Handwriting
Faces
Sacrament
Christian
Thank
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Nothing is so infectious as example.
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He was one of those men who possess almost every gift, except the gift of the power to use them.
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The most wonderful and the strongest things in the world, you know, are just the things which no one can see.
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Do today's duty, fight to-day's temptation and do not weaken and distract yourself by looking forward to things which you cannot see, and could not understand if you saw them.
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Toil is the true knight's pastime.
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Three fishers went sailing away to the west,/ Away to the west as the sun went down.
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Tis the hard grey weather Breeds hard English men.
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Men must work, and women must weep.
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Ay, marriage is the life-long miracle, The self-begetting wonder, daily fresh.
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Therefore, let us be patient, patient and let God our Father teach His own lesson, His own way. Let us try to learn it well and quickly but do not let us fancy that He will ring the school-bell, and send us to play before our lesson is learnt.
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Better is old wine than new, and old friends like-wise.
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All we need to make us really happy is something to be enthusiastic about.
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Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever.
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For men must work and women must weep, And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep.
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No earnest thinker is a plagiarist pure and simple. He will never borrow from others that which he has not already, more or less, thought out for himself.
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Do noble things, not dream them all day long: And so make Life, Death, and the vast Forever one grand, sweet song.
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So fleet the works of men, back to their earth againAncient and holy things fade like a dream.
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See the land, her Easter keeping, Rises as her Maker rose. Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping, Burst at last from winter snows. Earth with heaven above rejoices.
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All but God is changing day by day.
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All the butterflies and cockyolybirds would fly past me.
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