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The worlds in which we live at heart are one, The world I am, the fruit of I have done And underneath these worlds of flower and fruit, The world I love,--the only living root.

Henry Van Dyke

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Henry Van Dyke
Age: 80 †
Born: 1852
Born: November 10
Died: 1933
Died: April 10
Diplomat
Poet
Writer
Germantown
Philadelphia
Love
Worlds
World
Fruit
Roots
Flower
Living
Live
Done
Underneath
Heart
Root

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Modest egotism is the salt of conversation you do not want too much of it, but if it is altogether omitted, everything tastes flat.
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Even if we should find another Eden, we would not be fit to enjoy it perfectly nor stay in it forever.
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I heard through the nightThe rush and the clamourThe pulse of the fightLike blows of Thor's hammerThe pattering flightOf the leaves, and the anguishedMoan of the forest vanquished.
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So in the heart, When, fading slowly down the past, Fond memories depart, And each that leaves it seems the last Long after all the rest are flown, Returns a solitary tone,— The after-echo of departed years,— And touches all the soul to tears.
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I'm only wishing to go a-fishingFor this the month of May was made.
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Spend as much time as possible, with body and with spirit in God's out-of-doors.
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We measure success by accumulation. The measure is false. The true measure is appreciation. He who loves most has most.
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A peace that depends on fear is nothing but a suppressed war.
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A flawless cup: how delicate and fine The flowing curve of every jewelled line! Look, turn it up or down, 'tis perfect still-- But holds no drop of life's heart-warming wine.
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Thou wayfaring Jesus - a pilgrim and stranger, Exiled from heaven by love at Thy birth: Exiled again from Thy rest in the manger, A fugitive child 'mid the perils of earth - Cheer with Thy fellowship all who are weary, Wandering far from the land that they love: Guide every heart that is homeless and dreary, Safe to its home in Thy presence above.
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If all the skies were sunshine Our faces would be fain To feel once more upon them The cooling splash of rain. If all the world were music, Our hearts would often long For one sweet strain of silence, To break the endless song If life were always merry, Our souls would seek relief, And rest from weary laughter In the quiet arms of grief.
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The shadow by my finger cast Divides the future from the past: Before it, sleeps the unborn hour, In darkness, and beyond thy power. Behind its unreturning line, The vanished hour, no longer thine: One hour alone is in thy hands,- The NOW on which the shadow stands.
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Some succeed because they are destined to, but most succeed because they are determined to.
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No amount of energy will take the place of thought. A strenuous life with its eyes shut is a kind of wild insanity.
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In the progress of personality, first comes a declaration of independence, then a recognition of interdependence.
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The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another. The difference between them is sometimes as great as a month.
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Peace without Justice is a low estate,— A coward cringing to an iron Fate! But Peace through Justice is the great ideal,— We'll pay the price of war to make it real.
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For ever so our thoughtful hearts repeatOn fields of triumph dirges of defeatAnd still we turn on gala-days to treadAmong the rustling memories of the dead.
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For real company and friendship, there is nothing outside the animal kingdom that is comparable to a river.
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Tact is the unsaid part of what you think.
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