Opportunity is rare, and a wise man will never let it go by him.
BAYARD TAYLORPeace the offspring is of Power.
More Bayard Taylor Quotes
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And rest, that strengthens unto virtuous deeds, Is one with Prayer.
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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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There may come a day Which crowns Desire with gift, and Art with truth, And Love with bliss, and Life with wiser youth!
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Women are not apt to be won by the charms of verse.
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The clouds are scudding across the moon, A misty light is on the sea; The wind in the shrouds has a wintry tune, And the foam is flying free.
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Those who would attain to any marked degree of excellence in a chosen pursuit must work, and work hard for it, prince or peasant.
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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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Love is better than Fame.
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And far and wide, in a scarlet tide, The poppy’s bonfire spread.
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Higher than the perfect song For which love longeth, Is the tender fear of wrong, That never wrongeth.
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London has the advantage of one of the most gloomy atmospheres in the world.
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By wisdom wealth is won; but riches purchased wisdom yet for none.
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Could one live on the sense of beauty alone, exempt from the necessity of ‘creature comforts,’ a sea-voyage would be delightful.
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The bravest are the most tender; the loving are the daring.
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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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Love’s humility is love’s true pride.
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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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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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An enthusiastic desire of visiting the Old World haunted me from early childhood. I cherished a presentiment, amounting almost to belief, that I should one day behold the scenes, among which my fancy had so long wandered.
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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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Alone each heart must cover up its dead; Alone, through bitter toil, achieve its rest.
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The Poet’s leaves are gathered one by one, In the slow process of the doubtful years.
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Life lives only in success.
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I love thee, I love but thee, With a love that shall not die.
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Labor, you know, is prayer.
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Eccentricity is developed monomania.
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