Quote

I love to go and mingle with the young In the gay festal room--when every heart Is beating faster than the merry tune, And their blue eyes are restless, and their lips Parted with eager joy, and their round cheeks Flush'd with the beautiful motion of the dance.

Nathaniel Parker Willis

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Nathaniel Parker Willis
Age: 61 †
Born: 1806
Born: January 20
Died: 1867
Died: January 20
Author
Journalist
Literary Critic
Playwright
Poet
Portland
Maine
Nathanael Parker Willis
Young
Blue
Tunes
Mingle
Heart
Dance
Motion
Parted
Every
Room
Round
Eager
Love
Rooms
Rounds
Merry
Joy
Faster
Beating
Eyes
Gay
Restless
Eye
Lips
Tune
Beautiful
Dancing
Cheeks
Flush

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The smallest pebble in the well of truth has its peculiar meaning, and will stand when man's best monuments have passed away.
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Flirtation is a circulating library, in which we seldom ask twice for the same volume.
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There is to me a daintiness about early flowers that touches me like poetry. They blow out with such a simple loveliness among the common herbs of pastures, and breathe their lives so unobtrusively, like hearts whose beatings are too gentle for the world.
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It is godlike to unloose the spirit, and forget yourself in thought.
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There is no divining-rod whose dip shall tell us at twenty what we shall most relish at thirty.
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Blessed are the joymakers.
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Your love in a cottage is hungry, Your vine is a nest for flies- Your milkmaid shocks the Graces, And simplicity talks of pies! You lie down to your shady slumber And wake with a bug in your ear, And your damsel that walks in the morning Is shod like a mountaineer.
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Some noble spirits mistake despair for content.
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T is the work of many a dark hour, many a prayer, to bring the heart back from an infant gone.
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Like Melrose Abbey, large cities should especially be viewed by moonlight.
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Gratitude is not only the memory but the homage of the heart- rendered to God for his goodness.
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There is a gentle element, and man may breathe it with a calm, unruffled soul, and drink its living waters, till his heart is pure and this is human happiness.
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The expressive word quiet defines the dress, manners, bow, and even physiognomy of every true denizen of St. James and Bond street.
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A lamp is lit in woman's eye that souls, else lost on earth, remember angels by.
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Temptation hath a music for all ears.
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The rain is playing its soft pleasant tune fitfully on the skylight, and the shade of the fast-flying clouds across my book passed with delicate change.
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It is the month of June, The month of leaves and roses, When pleasant sights salute the eyes, And pleasant scents the noses.
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The soul of man createth its own destiny.
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The dust is old upon my sandal-shoon, And still I am a pilgrim I have roved From wild America to Bosphor's waters, And worshipp'd at innumerable shrines Of beauty and the painter's art, to me, And sculpture, speak as with a living tongue, And of dead kingdoms, I recall the soul, Sitting amid their ruins.
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O, when the heart is, full, when bitter thoughts come crowding thickly up for utterance, and the poor common words of courtesy are such a very mockery, how much the bursting heart may pour itself in prayer!
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