Quote

Come watch with me the shaft of fire that glows in yonder West the fair, frail palaces, The fading Alps and archipelagoes and great cloud continents of sunset-seas.

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
Watch
Continents
Glows
Fire
Sunset
Alps
Come
Fairs
Yonder
Great
Clouds
Frail
Fair
Fading
Sea
Seas
West
Palaces
Watches
Cloud
Shaft

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With the tears a Land hath shed. Their graves should ever be green.
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O harp of life, so speedily unstrung!
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My father invested his money so securely in the banking business that he was never able to get any of it out again.
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No bird has ever uttered note That was not in some first bird's throat Since Eden's freshness and man's fall No rose has been original.
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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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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.
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My mind lets go a thousand things, Like dates of wars and deaths of kings
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How fugitive and brief is mortal life between the budding and the falling leaf.
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We weep when we are born, Not when we die!
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Everyone has a bookplate these days, and the collectors are after it. The fool and his bookplate are soon parted. To distribute one's ex libris is inanely to destroy the only significance it has, that of indicating the past or present ownership of the volume in which it is placed.
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What is a day to an immortal soul! A breath, no more.
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O Liberty, white Goddess! is it well to leave the gates unguarded? On thy breast fold Sorrow's children, soothe the hurts of Fate, lift the down-trodden, but with hand of steel stay those who to thy sacred portals come to waste the gifts of Freedom.
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All the best sands of my life are somehow getting into the wrong end of the hourglass. If I could only reverse it! Were it in my power to do sowould I?
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I like not lady-slippers, Nor yet the sweet-pea blossoms, Nor yet the flaky roses, Red or white as snow I like the chaliced lilies, The heavy Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow.
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That was indeed to live -- at one bold swoop to wrest from darkling death the best that death to life can give.
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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 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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They fail, and they alone, who have not striven.
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Gracious to all, to none subservient, Without offense he spoke the word he meant
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