Beauty is a form of Genius–is higher, indeed, than Genius, as it needs no explanation. It is one of the great facts of the world, like sunlight, or springtime, or the reflection in the dark waters of that silver shell we call the moon. It cannot be questioned. It has divine right of sovereignty. It… Continue reading Oscar Wilde
The loveliest things in life are but shadows; they come and go, and change and fade away… – Charles Dickens, Martin Chuzzlewit. (Penguin Classics; Reissue edition August 1, 2000) Originally published 1844.
Then stirs the feeling infinite, so feltIn solitude, where we are least alone. — Lord Byron, from “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage: Night and Tempest.” published between 1812 and 1818.
Idleness, like kisses, to be sweet must be stolen. ― Jerome K. Jerome, Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow. (Mondial October 19, 2005) Originally published 1886.
Out of my thoughts! You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read, since I first came here, the rough common boy whose poor heart you wounded even then. You have been in every prospect I have ever seen since – on the river, […],… Continue reading Charles Dickens
But we never get back our youth… The pulse of joy that beats in us at twenty becomes sluggish. Our limbs fail, our senses rot. We degenerate into hideous puppets, haunted by the memory of the passions of which we were too much afraid, and the exquisite temptations that we had not the courage to… Continue reading Oscar Wilde
Invictus Out of the night that covers meBlack as the pit from pole to pole,I thank whatever gods may beFor my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance,I have not winced nor cried aloud.Under the bludgeonings of chanceMy head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tearsLooms but the Horror of… Continue reading William Ernest Henley
[When I have fears that I may cease to be] When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,Before high-pilèd books, in charactery, Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;When I behold, upon the night’s starred face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,And think… Continue reading John Keats
I’m tired, tired of being enclosed here. I’m wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there; not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart; but really with it, and in it. — Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights. (Thomas Cautley Newby December 1847)
And now let us love and take that which is given us, and be happy; for in the grave there is no love and no warmth, nor any touching of the lips. Nothing perchance, or perchance but bitter memories of what might have been. ― H. Rider Haggard, She. (Oxford University Press October 22, 1998)… Continue reading H. Rider Haggard
The Vale of Soul-Making 