Quote

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.

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
Sending
Kind
Heavy
Minors
Way
Seem
Weary
Things
Grows
Ending
Like
Song
Grand
Dreary
Death
Amen
Seems
Thank
Sad
Heart
Sadness
Minor
Long
Burden

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Give, and thou shalt receive. Give thoughts of cheer,Of courage and success, to friend and stranger.And from a thousand sources, far and near,Strength will be sent thee in thy hour of danger.
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Trust in your own untried capacity.
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Do you wish the world were happy? Then remember day by day, just to scatter seeds of kindness as you pass along the way. . . .
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Life is a garden forever in flower.
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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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Love is as bitter as the dregs of sin, As sweet as clover-honey in its cell Love is the password whereby souls get in To Heaven--the gate that leads, sometimes, to Hell.
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I Love your lips when they're wet with wine and red with wicked desire.
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Love much. Earth has enough of bitter in it.
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It is impossible to pursue a successful literary career and follow the advice of all one's 'best friends'.I feel compelled to follow the light which my own intellect & judgement cast upon my way, rather than any one of the many conflicting rays which other minds would lend me.
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Better to wait and yearn, and still to wait, And die at last with unappeased desire, Than live to be the jest of such a fate, For that is my conception of hell-fire.
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We waste half our strength in a useless regretting We sit by old tombs in the dark too long.
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The loves of men but vary in degrees-- They find no new expression for the flame.
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When we tire of well-worn ways, we seek for new. This restless craving in the souls of men spurs them to climb, and to seek the mountain view.
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There is nothing ridiculous in love.
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Use all your hidden forces. Do not miss The purpose of this life, and do not wait For circumstance to mould or change your fate.
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Let me not hurt, by any selfish deed Or thoughtless word, the heart of foe or friend Nor would I pass, unseeing, worthy need, Or sin by silence when I should defend... The world is better that I lived to-day.
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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.
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A day which passed without a poem from my pen I considered lost and misused.
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I will not doubt, though sorrows fall like rain, And troubles swarm like bees about a hive I shall believe the heights for which I strive Are only reached by anguish and by pain And though I groan and tremble with my crosses, I yet shall see, through my severest losses, The greater gain.
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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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