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The wind breathes not, and the wave Walks softly as above a grave.
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
Breathe
Wind
Walks
Breathes
Softly
Grave
Graves
Wave
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The dew, 'Tis of the tears which stars weep, sweet with joy.
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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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Imagination is the air of mind.
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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.
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What are ye orbs? The words of God? the Scriptures of the skies?
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Every believer is God's miracle.
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The course of Nature seems a course of Death, And nothingness the whole substantial thing.
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The first and worst of all frauds is to cheat one's self.
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America, thou half-brother of the world with something good and bad of every land.
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Let us think less of men and more of God.
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One thought settles a life, an immortality.
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Remember that thy heart will shed its pleasures as thine eye its tears, and both leave loathsome furrows.
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Evil is limited. One cannot form A scheme for universal evil.
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None but God can fill the perfect whole.
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Evil then results from imperfection.
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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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Life is as serious a thing as death.
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Envy's a coal comes hissing hot from Hell.
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