Quote

With care, and skill, and cunning art, She parried Time's malicious dart, And kept the years at bay, Till passion entered in her heart and aged her in a day!

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Age: 68 †
Born: 1850
Born: November 5
Died: 1919
Died: October 30
Author
Poet
Writer
Janesville
Wisconsin
Passion
Aged
Age
Entered
Art
Cunning
Care
Skill
Heart
Aging
Years
Till
Time
Kept
Dart
Skills
Malicious

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Always continue to climb.
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The sin and the shame and the sorrow, The crime and the want and the woe That are born there in your workshop, No hand can paint, you know.
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There is no satisfaction that can compare with looking back across the years and finding you've grown in self-control, judgment, generosity, and unselfishness.
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Our lives are songs God write the words And we set them to music at pleasure And the song grows glad, or sweet or sad, As we choose to fashion the measure.
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For an actress to be a success, she must have the face of Venus, the brains of a Minerva, the grace of Terpsichore, the memory of a Macaulay, the figure of Juno, and the hide of a rhinoceros.
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Sweep up the debris of decaying faith Sweep down the cobwebs of worn-out out beliefs, And throw your soul wide open to the light of reason and of knowledge. Be not afraid To thrust aside half-truths and grasp the whole.
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Love is the impulse which directs the world, And all things know it and obey its power. Man, in the maelstrom of his passions whirled The bee that takes the pollen to the flower The earth, uplifting her bare, pulsing breast To fervent kisses of the amorous sun-- Each but obeys creative Love's behest, Which everywhere instinctively is done.
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God made poor woman with no heart, But gave her skill, and tact, and art, And so she lives, and plays her part. We must not blame, but pity her.
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For every hour of pain I have had a day of pleasure. For every moment of worry, an hour of content.
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So many gods, so many creeds, so many paths that wind and wind while just the art of being kind is all the sad world needs.
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The loves of men but vary in degrees-- They find no new expression for the flame.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Time sped. And the poet through sorrow Became like his suffering kind. Again he toiled over his poems To lighten the grief of his mind.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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But now I know that there is no killing A thing like Love, for it laughs at Death. There is no hushing, there is no stilling That which is part of your life and breath. You may bury it deep, and leave behind you The land, the people that knew your slain It will push the sods from its grave, and find you On wastes of water or desert plain.
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A day which passed without a poem from my pen I considered lost and misused.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Love is the only thing that pays for birth, Or makes death welcome. Oh, dear God above This beautiful but sad, perplexing earth, Pity the hearts that know--or know not--Love!
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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There is no sudden entrance into Heaven. Slow is the ascent by the path of Love.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Day's sweetest moments are at dawn.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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I Love your lips when they're wet with wine and red with wicked desire.
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When the heart grows weary, all things seem dreary When the burden grows heavy, the way seems long. Thank God for sending kind death as an ending, Like a grand Amen to a minor song.
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Love lights more fire than hate extinguishes.
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