Quote

The pale and quiet moon Makes her calm forehead bare, And the last fragments of the storm, Like shattered rigging from a fight at sea, Silent and few, are drifting over me.

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
Fighting
Weather
Rigging
Lasts
Storm
Forehead
Last
Calm
Foreheads
Makes
Silent
Drifting
Like
Sea
Shattered
Moon
Bare
Quiet
Fragments
Fight
Pale

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The Don Quixote of one generation may live to hear himself called the savior of society by the next.
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Earth's noblest thing,-a woman perfected.
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Who is it needs such flawless shafts as fate? What archer of his arrows is so choice, or hits the white so surely?
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To fail at all is to fail utterly.
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Stories now, to suit a public taste, must be half epigram, half pleasant vice.
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The traitor to Humanity is the traitor most accursed Man is more than Constitutions better rot beneath the sod, Than be true to Church and State while we are doubly false to God.
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Suddenly all the sky is hid As with the shutting of a lid, One by one great drops are falling Doubtful and slow, Down the pane they are crookedly crawling, And the wind breathes low Slowly the circles widen on the river, Widen and mingle, one and all Here and there the slenderer flowers shiver, Struck by an icy rain-drop’s fall.
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Through aisles of long-drawn centuries my spirit walks in thought.
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Winds wanders, and dews drip earthward Rains fall, suns rise and set Earth whirls, and all but to prosper A poor little violet.
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Not as all other women are Is she that to my soul is dear Her glorious fancies come from far, Beneath the silver evening star, And yet her heart is ever near.
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The quiet tenderness of Chaucer, where you almost seem to hear the hot tears falling, and the simple choking words sobbed out.
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A great part of human suffering has its root in the nature of man, and not in that of his institutions.
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Good heavens, of what un costly material is our earthly happiness composed... if we only knew it. What incomes have we not had from a flower, and how unfailing are the dividends of the seasons.
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