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He who keeps his faith only, cannot be discrowned.
James Russell Lowell
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James Russell Lowell
Age: 72 †
Born: 1819
Born: February 22
Died: 1891
Died: August 12
Diplomat
Essayist
Journalist
Literary Critic
Poet
Writer
Cambridge
Massachusetts
Keeps
Faith
Cannot
More quotes by James Russell Lowell
Slow are the steps of freedom, but her feet turn never backward.
James Russell Lowell
The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down, and still fluttered down the snow.
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Greatly begin. Though thou have time, but for a line, be that sublime. Not failure, but low aim is crime.
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Freedom is the only law which genius knows.
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Silence is sorrow's best food.
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No mud can soil us but the mud we throw.
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Wealth may be an excellent thing, for it means power, and it means leisure, it means liberty.
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Better one bite at forty, of truths bitter rind, than the hot wine that gushed from the vintage of twenty.
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The devil loves nothing better than the intolerance of reformers.
James Russell Lowell
A profound common sense is the best genius for statesmanship.
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I willingly confess to so great a partiality for trees as tempts me to respect a man in exact proportion to his respect for them.
James Russell Lowell
Our seasons have no fixed returns, Without our will they come and go At noon our sudden summer burns, Ere sunset all is snow.
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For only by unlearning Wisdom comes.
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Democracy is nothing more than an experiment in government, more likely to succeed in a new soil, but likely to be tried in all soils, which must stand or fall on its own merits as others have done before it. For there is no trick of perpetual motion in politics any more than in mechanics.
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Metaphor is no argument, though it be sometimes the gunpowder to drive one home, and imbed it in the memory.
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Praise follows truth afar off, and only overtakes her at the grave plausibility clings to her skirts and holds her back till then
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Attention is the stuff that memory is made of, and memory is accumulated genius.
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Life may be given in many ways, and loyalty to truth be sealed as bravely in the closet as the field.
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Nature, they say, doth dote, And cannot make a man Save on some worn-out plan, Repeating us by rote.
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Against the windows the storm comes dashing, Through tattered foliage the hail tears crashing, The blue lightning flashes, The rapid hail clashes... The thunder is rumbling And crashing and crumbling.
James Russell Lowell