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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 wind breathes not, and the wave Walks softly as above a grave.
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The truth is perilous never to the true, Nor knowledge to the wise and to the fool, And to the false, error and truth alike, Error is worse than ignorance.
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Youth might be wise we suffer less from pains than pleasures.
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Life's but a means unto an end, that end, Beginning, mean, and end to all things--God.
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For ivy climbs the crumbling hall To decorate decay.
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Evil then results from imperfection.
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For as nightingales do upon glow-worms feed, So poets live upon the living light.
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The heart is its own Fate.
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The sole equality on earth is death.
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Let us think less of men and more of God.
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Leave the poor Some time for self-improvement. Let them not Be forced to grind the bones out of their arms For bread, but have some space to think and feel Like moral and immortal creatures.
Philip James Bailey
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It is much less what we do than what we think, which fits us for the future.
Philip James Bailey
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The poet's pen is the true divining rod Which trembles towards the inner founts of feeling Bringing to light and use, else hid from all, The many sweet clear sources which we have of good and beauty in our own deep bosoms And marks the variations of all mind As does the needle.
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The worst men often give the best advice. Our deeds are sometimes better than our thoughts.
Philip James Bailey
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Life is as serious a thing as death.
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Envy's a coal comes hissing hot from Hell.
Philip James Bailey
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I have a heart with room for every joy .
Philip James Bailey
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The first and worst of all frauds is to cheat one's self.
Philip James Bailey
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The ground of all great thoughts is sadness.
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Dear Lord, our God and Saviour! for Thy gifts The world were poor in thanks, though every soul Were to do nought but breathe them, every blade Of grass, and every atomie of earth To utter it like dew.
Philip James Bailey