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Sorrow is a stone that crushes a single bearer to the ground, while two are able to carry it with ease.
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
Able
Stone
Ease
Carry
Stones
Ground
Sorrow
Bearer
Single
Crushes
Two
Crush
More quotes by Philip James Bailey
Evil is limited. One cannot form A scheme for universal evil.
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The first and worst of all frauds is to cheat one's self.
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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
He who has most of heart knows most of sorrow.
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Men might be better if we better deemed of them.
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For ivy climbs the crumbling hall To decorate decay.
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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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Write to the mind and heart, and let the ear Glean after what it can.
Philip James Bailey
The goodness of the heart is shown in deeds Of peacefulness and kindness. Hand and heart Are one thing with the good, as thou should'st be. Do my words trouble thee? then treasure them, Pain overgot gives peace, as death doth Heaven. All things that speak of Heaven speak of peace.
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Necessity, like electricity, is in ourselves and all things, and no more without us than within us.
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I cannot be content with less than heaven.
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Application is the price to be paid for mental acquisition. To have the harvest, we must sow the seed.
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Walk boldly and wisely.... There is a hand above that will help you on.
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Naught but God Can satisfy the soul.
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Death, thou art infinite it is life is little.
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The value of a thought cannot be told.
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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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Night comes, world-jewelled, . . . The stars rush forth in myriads as to wage War with the lines of Darkness and the moon, Pale ghost of Night, comes haunting the cold earth After the sun's red sea-death--quietless.
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Hell is more bearable than nothingness.
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Words are the motes of thought, and nothing more.
Philip James Bailey