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Decoration Day is the most beautiful of our national holidays.... The grim cannon have turned into palm branches, and the shell and shrapnel into peach blossoms.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich

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Thomas Bailey Aldrich
Age: 70 †
Born: 1836
Born: November 2
Died: 1907
Died: March 19
Editor
Journalist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Portsmouth
New Hampshire
Military
Memorial
Cannons
Beautiful
Palms
Peaches
Shells
Blossoms
Uplifting
Decoration
Holiday
Holidays
Branches
Palm
Shrapnel
Turned
Grim
Peach
National
Shell
Cannon

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It is the Lord's Day, and I do believe that cheerful hearts and faces are not unpleasant in His sight.
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Between the reputation of the author living and the reputation of the same author dead there is ever a wide discrepancy.
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The fate of the worm refutes the pretended ethical teaching of the proverb, which assumes to illustrate the advantage of early rising and does so by showing how extremely dangerous it is.
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The fanatic has the courage of his conviction and the intolerance of his courage. He is opposed to the death penalty for murder, but he would willingly have anyone electrocuted who disagreed with him on the subject.
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What is a day to an immortal soul! A breath, no more.
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With the tears a Land hath shed. Their graves should ever be green.
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October turned my maple's leaves to gold The most are gone now here and there one lingers: Soon these will slip from the twigs' weak hold, Like coins between a dying miser's fingers.
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Imagine all human beings swept off the face of the earth, excepting one man. Imagine this man in some vast city, New York or London. Imagine him on the third or fourth day of his solitude sitting in a house and hearing a ring at the door-bell!
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What is slang in one age sometimes goes into the vocabulary of the purist in the next.
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The ring of a false coin is not more recognizable than that of a rhyme setting forth a false sorrow.
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The young girl in my story is to be as sensitive to praise as a prism is to light. Whenever anybody praises her she breaks into colors.
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The thing one reads and likes, and then forgets, is of no account. The thing that stays, and haunts one, and refuses to be forgotten, that is the sincere thing.
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A glance, a word -- and joy or pain befalls.... How slight the links are in the chain that binds us to our destiny!
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To keep the heart unwrinkled, to be hopeful, kindly, cheerful, reverent that is to triumph over old age.
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Up from the dark the moon begins to creep and now a pallid, haggard face lifts she above the water-line: thus from the deep a drowned body rises solemnly.
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The possession of unlimited power will make a despot of almost any man. There is a possible Nero in the gentlest human creature that walks.
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The man who suspects his own tediousness is yet to be born.
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O harp of life, so speedily unstrung!
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