Philip James Bailey Quotes - Page 2

The first and worst of all frauds is to cheat one's self.

Where imperfection ceaseth, heaven begins.

My favoured temple is an humble heart.

The world is a great poem, and the world's The words it is writ in, and we souls the thoughts.

All things that speak of heaven speak of peace.

Let us think less of men and more of God.

Love is the art of hearts, and heart or arts.

Remember that thy heart will shed its pleasures as thine eye its tears, and both leave loathsome furrows.

Mind and night will meet, though in silence, like forbidden lovers.

Joys Are bubble-like--what makes them bursts them too.

Could we but think with the intensity we love with, we might do great things.

None but the brave and beautiful can love.

Man is a military animal, glories in gunpowder, and loves parade.

Night brings out stars as sorrow shows us truths.

He is a fool who is not for love and beauty. I speak unto the young, for I am of them and always shall be.

It is no great misfortune to oblige ungrateful people, but an unsupportable one to be forced to be under an obligation to a scoundrel.

Where doubt there truth is - 'tis her shadow.

The ground of all great thoughts is sadness.

Obey thy genius, for a minister it is unto the throne of fate. Draw to thy soul, and centralize the rays which are around of the Divinity.

The worst men often give the best advice. Our deeds are sometimes better than our thoughts.

Necessity, like electricity, is in ourselves and all things, and no more without us than within us.

The wind breathes not, and the wave Walks softly as above a grave.

Night comes, world-jewelled, . . . The stars rush forth in myriads as to wage War with the lines of Darkness; and the moon, Pale ghost of Night, comes haunting the cold earth After the sun's red sea-death--quietless.

The poet's pen is the true divining rod Which trembles towards the inner founts of feeling; Bringing to light and use, else hid from all, The many sweet clear sources which we have of good and beauty in our own deep bosoms; And marks the variations of all mind As does the needle.

For as nightingales do upon glow-worms feed, So poets live upon the living light.