Pens carry further than rifled cannon.
BAYARD TAYLORMock jewelry on a woman is tangible vulgarity.
More Bayard Taylor Quotes
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With rushing winds and gloomy skies The dark and stubborn Winter dies: Far-off, unseen, Spring faintly cries, Bidding her earliest child arise; March!
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The stream from Wisdom’s well, Which God supplies, is inexhaustible.
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But still I dream that somewhere there must be The spirit of a child that waits for me.
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The lamp you lighted in the olden time Will show you my heart’s-blood beating through the rhyme: A poet’s journal, writ in fire and tears… Then slow deliverance, with the gaps of years.
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Melrose is the finest remaining specimen of Gothic architecture in Scotland. Some of the sculptured flowers in the cloister arches are remarkably beautiful and delicate, and the two windows – the south and east oriels – are of a lightness and grace of execution really surprising.
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As I toiled up the Mount of Olives, in the very footsteps of Christ, panting with the heat and the difficult ascent, I found it utterly impossible to conceive that the Deity, in human form, had walked there before me.
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Death is not rare, alas! nor burials few, And soon the grassy coverlet of God Spreads equal green above their ashes pale.
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The nearest approach I have ever seen to the symmetry of ancient sculpture was among the Arab tribes of Ethiopia. Our Saxon race can supply the athlete, but not the Apollo.
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Opportunity is rare, and a wise man will never let it go by him.
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The knowledge of my sin Is half-repentance.
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Voluptuous bloom and fragrance rare The summer to its rose may bring; Far sweeter to the wooing air The hidden violet of spring. Still, still that lovely ghost appears, Too fair, too pure, to bid depart; No riper love of later years Can steal its beauty from the heart.
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Although Damascus is considered the oldest city in the world, the date of its foundation going beyond tradition, there are very few relics of antiquity in or near it.
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Alone each heart must cover up its dead; Alone, through bitter toil, achieve its rest.
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Fame is what you have taken, / Character’s what you give; / When to this truth you waken, / Then you begin to live.
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Swelling in anger or sparkling in glee.
BAYARD TAYLOR