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How many thorns of human nature are bristling conceits, buds of promise grown sharp for want of congenial climate.

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Bristling Bud Climate Concept Congenial Grown Human Many Nature Promise Thorn

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The Kingdom of Heaven is not a place, but a state of mind.
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How many thorns of human nature are bristling conceits, buds of promise grown sharp for want of congenial climate.
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We now use the word ‘nature’ very much as our fathers used the word ‘God.’
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Whitman will always be a strange and unwonted figure among his country’s poets, and among English poets generally: a cropping out again, after so many centuries, of the old bardic prophetic strain.
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A sap run is the sweet goodbye of winter. It is the fruit of the equal marriage of the sun and frost.
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How beautiful the leaves grow old. How full of light and color are their last days.
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Emerson is the spokesman and prophet of youth and of a formative, idealistic age. His is a voice from the heights which are ever bathed in the sunshine of the spirit.
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Without the emotion of the beautiful, the sublime, the mysterious, there is no art, no religion, no literature.
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Travel and society polish one, but a rolling stone gathers no moss, and a little moss is a good thing on a man.
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