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Death, thou art infinite it is life is little.

Philip James Bailey

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Philip James Bailey
Age: 86 †
Born: 1816
Born: April 22
Died: 1902
Died: September 6
Author
Poet
Writer
P. J. Bailey
Death
Art
Littles
Little
Life
Thou
Infinite

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The strongest passion which I have is honor.
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The first and worst of all frauds is to cheat one's self.
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It matters not how long we live but how.
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We live in deeds, not years in thoughts, not breaths In feelings, not in figures on a dial.
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Look on the bee upon the wing 'mong flowers How brave, how bright his life! then mark, him hiv'd, Cramp'd, cringing in his self-built, social cell, Thus it is in the world-hive most where men Lie deep in cities as in drifts.
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Grief hallows hearts, even while it ages heads.
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Evil is limited. One cannot form A scheme for universal evil.
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I cannot love as I have loved, And yet I know not why It is the one great woe of life To feel all feeling die.
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I cannot be content with less than heaven.
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Kindness is wisdom. There is none in life But needs it and may learn.
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Words are the motes of thought, and nothing more.
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What are ye orbs? The words of God? the Scriptures of the skies?
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The value of a thought cannot be told.
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I have a heart with room for every joy .
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There is no disappointment we endure one-half so great as what we are to ourselves.
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Let each man think himself an act of God, His mind a thought, his life a breath of God And let each try, by great thoughts and good deeds, To show the most of Heaven he hath in him.
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It is much less what we do than what we think, which fits us for the future.
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For ivy climbs the crumbling hall To decorate decay.
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None but God can fill the perfect whole.
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Mind and night will meet, though in silence, like forbidden lovers.
Philip James Bailey