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A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.
William C. Bryant
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William C. Bryant
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More quotes by William C. Bryant
God hath yoked to guilt her pale tormentor,--misery.
William C. Bryant
A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
William C. Bryant
[Thanatopsis] was written in 1817, when Bryant was 23. Had he died then, the world would have thought it had lost a great poet. But he lived on.
William C. Bryant
Adversity is the nurse of greatness which roughly rocks her patients back to health.
William C. Bryant
Follow thou thy choice.
William C. Bryant
On my cornice linger the ripe black grapes ungathered Children fill the groves with the echoes of their glee, Gathering tawny chestnuts, and shouting when beside them Drops the heavy fruit of the tall black-walnut tree.
William C. Bryant
The right to discuss freely and openly, by speech, by the pen, by the press, all political questions, and to examine the animadvert upon all political institutions is a right so clear and certain, so interwoven with our other liberties, so necessary, in fact, to their existence, that without it we must fall into despotism and anarchy.
William C. Bryant
And at my silent window-sill The jessamine peeps in.
William C. Bryant
The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyone the sculpted flower.
William C. Bryant
The linden, in the fervors of July, Hums with a louder concert. When the wind Sweeps the broad forest in its summer prime, As when some master-hand exulting sweeps The keys of some great organ, ye give forth The music of the woodland depths, a hymn Of gladness and of thanks.
William C. Bryant
Winning isn't everything, but it beats anything in second place.
William C. Bryant
Lay down the axe fling by the spade Leave in its track the toiling plough The rifle and the bayonet-blade For arms like yours were fitter now And let the hands that ply the pen Quit the light task, and learn to wield The horseman's crooked brand, and rein The charger on the battle-field.
William C. Bryant
And kind the voice and glad the eyes That welcome my return at night.
William C. Bryant
The hushed winds their Sabbath keep.
William C. Bryant
To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.
William C. Bryant
Come when the rains Have glazed the snow and clothed the trees with ice, While the slant sun of February pours Into the bowers a flood of light. Approach! The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps And the broad arching portals of the grove Welcome thy entering.
William C. Bryant
All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.
William C. Bryant
Still sweet with blossoms is the year's fresh prime.
William C. Bryant
So they, who climb to wealth, forget The friends in darker fortunes tried. I copied them--but I regret That I should ape the ways of pride.
William C. Bryant
War, like all other situations of danger and of change, calls forth the exertion of admirable intellectual qualities and great virtues, and it is only by dwelling on these, and keeping out of sight the sufferings and sorrows, and all the crimes and evils that follow in its train, that it has its glory in the eyes of men.
William C. Bryant