Never yetWas noble man but made ignoble talk.He makes no friend who never made a foe.—Tennyson.
Never yetWas noble man but made ignoble talk.He makes no friend who never made a foe.—Tennyson.
Never yetWas noble man but made ignoble talk.He makes no friend who never made a foe.
Never yet
Was noble man but made ignoble talk.
He makes no friend who never made a foe.
—Tennyson.
—Tennyson.
He that hath gained a friend hath given hostages to fortune.
—Shakespeare.
If your friend has got a heart,There is something fine in him;Cast away his darker part,—Cling to what’s divine in him.—Unknown.
If your friend has got a heart,There is something fine in him;Cast away his darker part,—Cling to what’s divine in him.—Unknown.
If your friend has got a heart,There is something fine in him;Cast away his darker part,—Cling to what’s divine in him.
If your friend has got a heart,
There is something fine in him;
Cast away his darker part,—
Cling to what’s divine in him.
—Unknown.
—Unknown.
There is naught so characteristic of man, nor which clothes him with such excellent dignity, as his capacity for loyalty and stable friendship.
—Dach.
The parting of friends united by sympathetic tastes, is always painful; and friends, unless their sympathy subsist, had much better never meet.
—Disraeli.
We were friends from the first moment. Sincere attachments usually begin at the beginning.
—Jefferson.
Friends are like melons; shall I tell you why?To find one good you must a hundred try.—Mermet.
Friends are like melons; shall I tell you why?To find one good you must a hundred try.—Mermet.
Friends are like melons; shall I tell you why?To find one good you must a hundred try.
Friends are like melons; shall I tell you why?
To find one good you must a hundred try.
—Mermet.
—Mermet.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,Thou dost not bite so nighAs benefits forgot:Though thou the waters warp,Thy sting is not so sharp,As friend remember’d not.—Shakespeare.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,Thou dost not bite so nighAs benefits forgot:Though thou the waters warp,Thy sting is not so sharp,As friend remember’d not.—Shakespeare.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,Thou dost not bite so nighAs benefits forgot:Though thou the waters warp,Thy sting is not so sharp,As friend remember’d not.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thou dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp,
As friend remember’d not.
—Shakespeare.
—Shakespeare.
A poet might sing you his sweetest of songs,But this must the poet have known:Of the heart whose love to you only belongs,Whose strength would be spent to save you from wrongs,Of a soul knit to yours with the mightiest thongs,And sing them for you alone!An artist might paint you a picture fairThat would equal the greatest known;But the heart of a friend, to do and to dare,To save you from sorrow, and trial, and care,Is something an artist, paint he ever so rare,Has never on canvas shown!
A poet might sing you his sweetest of songs,But this must the poet have known:Of the heart whose love to you only belongs,Whose strength would be spent to save you from wrongs,Of a soul knit to yours with the mightiest thongs,And sing them for you alone!An artist might paint you a picture fairThat would equal the greatest known;But the heart of a friend, to do and to dare,To save you from sorrow, and trial, and care,Is something an artist, paint he ever so rare,Has never on canvas shown!
A poet might sing you his sweetest of songs,But this must the poet have known:Of the heart whose love to you only belongs,Whose strength would be spent to save you from wrongs,Of a soul knit to yours with the mightiest thongs,And sing them for you alone!
A poet might sing you his sweetest of songs,
But this must the poet have known:
Of the heart whose love to you only belongs,
Whose strength would be spent to save you from wrongs,
Of a soul knit to yours with the mightiest thongs,
And sing them for you alone!
An artist might paint you a picture fairThat would equal the greatest known;But the heart of a friend, to do and to dare,To save you from sorrow, and trial, and care,Is something an artist, paint he ever so rare,Has never on canvas shown!
An artist might paint you a picture fair
That would equal the greatest known;
But the heart of a friend, to do and to dare,
To save you from sorrow, and trial, and care,
Is something an artist, paint he ever so rare,
Has never on canvas shown!
Ye who have scorned each otherOr injured friend or brother,In this fast fading year;Ye who, by word or deed,Have made a kind heart bleed,Come gather here.Let sinned against, and sinningForget their strife’s beginning,And join in friendship now;Be links no longer broken,Be sweet forgiveness spoken,Under the Holly Bough.Ye who have nourished sadnessEstranged from hope and gladness,In this fast fading year;Ye, with o’erburdened mind,Made aliens from your kind,Come gather here.—Mackay.
Ye who have scorned each otherOr injured friend or brother,In this fast fading year;Ye who, by word or deed,Have made a kind heart bleed,Come gather here.Let sinned against, and sinningForget their strife’s beginning,And join in friendship now;Be links no longer broken,Be sweet forgiveness spoken,Under the Holly Bough.Ye who have nourished sadnessEstranged from hope and gladness,In this fast fading year;Ye, with o’erburdened mind,Made aliens from your kind,Come gather here.—Mackay.
Ye who have scorned each otherOr injured friend or brother,In this fast fading year;Ye who, by word or deed,Have made a kind heart bleed,Come gather here.
Ye who have scorned each other
Or injured friend or brother,
In this fast fading year;
Ye who, by word or deed,
Have made a kind heart bleed,
Come gather here.
Let sinned against, and sinningForget their strife’s beginning,And join in friendship now;Be links no longer broken,Be sweet forgiveness spoken,Under the Holly Bough.
Let sinned against, and sinning
Forget their strife’s beginning,
And join in friendship now;
Be links no longer broken,
Be sweet forgiveness spoken,
Under the Holly Bough.
Ye who have nourished sadnessEstranged from hope and gladness,In this fast fading year;Ye, with o’erburdened mind,Made aliens from your kind,Come gather here.
Ye who have nourished sadness
Estranged from hope and gladness,
In this fast fading year;
Ye, with o’erburdened mind,
Made aliens from your kind,
Come gather here.
—Mackay.
—Mackay.
A more glorious victory cannot be gained over another than this, that when the injury began on his part, the kindness should begin on ours.
—Tillotson.
Like alone acts upon him. Therefore, do not amend by reasoning, but by example; approach feeling by feeling; do not hope to excite love except by love. Be what you wish others to become. Let yourself and not your words preach.
—Amiel.
Why is my verse so barren of new pride?So far from variation or quick change?Why, with the time do I not glance asideTo new-found methods and to compounds strange?Why write I still all one, ever the same,And keep invention in a noted weed,That every word doth almost tell my name,Showing their birth and where they did proceed?O, know, sweet love, I always write of you,And you and love are still my argument:So all my best is dressing old words new,Spending again what is already spent;For as the sun is daily new and old,So is my love still telling what is told.—Shakespeare.
Why is my verse so barren of new pride?So far from variation or quick change?Why, with the time do I not glance asideTo new-found methods and to compounds strange?Why write I still all one, ever the same,And keep invention in a noted weed,That every word doth almost tell my name,Showing their birth and where they did proceed?O, know, sweet love, I always write of you,And you and love are still my argument:So all my best is dressing old words new,Spending again what is already spent;For as the sun is daily new and old,So is my love still telling what is told.—Shakespeare.
Why is my verse so barren of new pride?So far from variation or quick change?Why, with the time do I not glance asideTo new-found methods and to compounds strange?Why write I still all one, ever the same,And keep invention in a noted weed,That every word doth almost tell my name,Showing their birth and where they did proceed?O, know, sweet love, I always write of you,And you and love are still my argument:So all my best is dressing old words new,Spending again what is already spent;For as the sun is daily new and old,So is my love still telling what is told.
Why is my verse so barren of new pride?
So far from variation or quick change?
Why, with the time do I not glance aside
To new-found methods and to compounds strange?
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth and where they did proceed?
O, know, sweet love, I always write of you,
And you and love are still my argument:
So all my best is dressing old words new,
Spending again what is already spent;
For as the sun is daily new and old,
So is my love still telling what is told.
—Shakespeare.
—Shakespeare.
How oft as we sat ’round the board,My dear old friends and I,We drew from Memory’s sweet, sad hoard,Enough to make us sigh.And merry wit was silenced there,By some vague haunting thought,Which seemed to fill the very air,Around, unbid, unsought.And so may this sweet, happy hour,My dear new friends, I pray,Be like some book-pressed fragile flower,That Youth has lain away;But when life’s book is widely spread,This sweet but faded hour,Will bring sad thoughts of moments fled,As does the wilted flower.
How oft as we sat ’round the board,My dear old friends and I,We drew from Memory’s sweet, sad hoard,Enough to make us sigh.And merry wit was silenced there,By some vague haunting thought,Which seemed to fill the very air,Around, unbid, unsought.And so may this sweet, happy hour,My dear new friends, I pray,Be like some book-pressed fragile flower,That Youth has lain away;But when life’s book is widely spread,This sweet but faded hour,Will bring sad thoughts of moments fled,As does the wilted flower.
How oft as we sat ’round the board,My dear old friends and I,We drew from Memory’s sweet, sad hoard,Enough to make us sigh.And merry wit was silenced there,By some vague haunting thought,Which seemed to fill the very air,Around, unbid, unsought.
How oft as we sat ’round the board,
My dear old friends and I,
We drew from Memory’s sweet, sad hoard,
Enough to make us sigh.
And merry wit was silenced there,
By some vague haunting thought,
Which seemed to fill the very air,
Around, unbid, unsought.
And so may this sweet, happy hour,My dear new friends, I pray,Be like some book-pressed fragile flower,That Youth has lain away;But when life’s book is widely spread,This sweet but faded hour,Will bring sad thoughts of moments fled,As does the wilted flower.
And so may this sweet, happy hour,
My dear new friends, I pray,
Be like some book-pressed fragile flower,
That Youth has lain away;
But when life’s book is widely spread,
This sweet but faded hour,
Will bring sad thoughts of moments fled,
As does the wilted flower.
I never did repent for doing good,Nor shall not now; for in companionsThat do converse and waste the time together,Whose souls to bear an equal yoke of love,There must be needs a like proportionOf lineaments, of manners, and of spirit.—Shakespeare.
I never did repent for doing good,Nor shall not now; for in companionsThat do converse and waste the time together,Whose souls to bear an equal yoke of love,There must be needs a like proportionOf lineaments, of manners, and of spirit.—Shakespeare.
I never did repent for doing good,Nor shall not now; for in companionsThat do converse and waste the time together,Whose souls to bear an equal yoke of love,There must be needs a like proportionOf lineaments, of manners, and of spirit.
I never did repent for doing good,
Nor shall not now; for in companions
That do converse and waste the time together,
Whose souls to bear an equal yoke of love,
There must be needs a like proportion
Of lineaments, of manners, and of spirit.
—Shakespeare.
—Shakespeare.
How say ye “We loved once,”Blasphemers—Is your earth not cold enow,Mourners, without that snow?Ah, friends, and would ye wrong each other so?And could ye say of some whose love is known,Whose prayers have met your own,Whose tears have fallen for you, whose smiles have shoneSo long,—“We loved them ONCE”?—E. B. Browning.
How say ye “We loved once,”Blasphemers—Is your earth not cold enow,Mourners, without that snow?Ah, friends, and would ye wrong each other so?And could ye say of some whose love is known,Whose prayers have met your own,Whose tears have fallen for you, whose smiles have shoneSo long,—“We loved them ONCE”?—E. B. Browning.
How say ye “We loved once,”Blasphemers—Is your earth not cold enow,Mourners, without that snow?Ah, friends, and would ye wrong each other so?And could ye say of some whose love is known,Whose prayers have met your own,Whose tears have fallen for you, whose smiles have shoneSo long,—“We loved them ONCE”?
How say ye “We loved once,”
Blasphemers—Is your earth not cold enow,
Mourners, without that snow?
Ah, friends, and would ye wrong each other so?
And could ye say of some whose love is known,
Whose prayers have met your own,
Whose tears have fallen for you, whose smiles have shone
So long,—“We loved them ONCE”?
—E. B. Browning.
—E. B. Browning.
The strong necessity of time commandsOur services awhile; but my full heartRemains in use with you.—Shakespeare.
The strong necessity of time commandsOur services awhile; but my full heartRemains in use with you.—Shakespeare.
The strong necessity of time commandsOur services awhile; but my full heartRemains in use with you.
The strong necessity of time commands
Our services awhile; but my full heart
Remains in use with you.
—Shakespeare.
—Shakespeare.
Self-denial, for the sake of self-denial, does no good; self-sacrifice for its own sake is no religious act at all.... Self-sacrifice, illuminated by love, is warmth and life, the blessedness and the only proper life of man.
—Robertson.
I think that good must come of good,And ill of evil—surely unto allIn every place or time, seeing sweet fruitGroweth from wholesome roots, or bitter thingsFrom poison stocks: yea, seeing, too, how spiteBreeds hate—and kindness friends—or patience peace.—Arnold.
I think that good must come of good,And ill of evil—surely unto allIn every place or time, seeing sweet fruitGroweth from wholesome roots, or bitter thingsFrom poison stocks: yea, seeing, too, how spiteBreeds hate—and kindness friends—or patience peace.—Arnold.
I think that good must come of good,And ill of evil—surely unto allIn every place or time, seeing sweet fruitGroweth from wholesome roots, or bitter thingsFrom poison stocks: yea, seeing, too, how spiteBreeds hate—and kindness friends—or patience peace.
I think that good must come of good,
And ill of evil—surely unto all
In every place or time, seeing sweet fruit
Groweth from wholesome roots, or bitter things
From poison stocks: yea, seeing, too, how spite
Breeds hate—and kindness friends—or patience peace.
—Arnold.
—Arnold.
Unfading joys thy lot should crown,If lips like mine could call them down.—Wilson.
Unfading joys thy lot should crown,If lips like mine could call them down.—Wilson.
Unfading joys thy lot should crown,If lips like mine could call them down.
Unfading joys thy lot should crown,
If lips like mine could call them down.
—Wilson.
—Wilson.
Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest, I will die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.
—Ruth to Naomi.
But of your goodness pray to this give heed,That friendship doth in friendship find its meed.
But of your goodness pray to this give heed,That friendship doth in friendship find its meed.
But of your goodness pray to this give heed,That friendship doth in friendship find its meed.
But of your goodness pray to this give heed,
That friendship doth in friendship find its meed.
Let thy nameDwell ever in my heart and on my lips,Theme of my lyre and burden of my song.—Ovid.
Let thy nameDwell ever in my heart and on my lips,Theme of my lyre and burden of my song.—Ovid.
Let thy nameDwell ever in my heart and on my lips,Theme of my lyre and burden of my song.
Let thy name
Dwell ever in my heart and on my lips,
Theme of my lyre and burden of my song.
—Ovid.
—Ovid.
Some love the glow of outward show,Some love mere wealth, and try to win it;The house to me may lowly be,If I but like the people in it.What’s all the gold that glitters sold,When linked to hard or haughty feeling?Whate’er we’re told, the nobler goldIs truth of heart and manly dealing.Then let them seek, whose minds are weak,Mere fashion’s smile, and try to win it;The house to me may lowly be,If I but like the people in it.—Swain.
Some love the glow of outward show,Some love mere wealth, and try to win it;The house to me may lowly be,If I but like the people in it.What’s all the gold that glitters sold,When linked to hard or haughty feeling?Whate’er we’re told, the nobler goldIs truth of heart and manly dealing.Then let them seek, whose minds are weak,Mere fashion’s smile, and try to win it;The house to me may lowly be,If I but like the people in it.—Swain.
Some love the glow of outward show,Some love mere wealth, and try to win it;The house to me may lowly be,If I but like the people in it.
Some love the glow of outward show,
Some love mere wealth, and try to win it;
The house to me may lowly be,
If I but like the people in it.
What’s all the gold that glitters sold,When linked to hard or haughty feeling?Whate’er we’re told, the nobler goldIs truth of heart and manly dealing.
What’s all the gold that glitters sold,
When linked to hard or haughty feeling?
Whate’er we’re told, the nobler gold
Is truth of heart and manly dealing.
Then let them seek, whose minds are weak,Mere fashion’s smile, and try to win it;The house to me may lowly be,If I but like the people in it.
Then let them seek, whose minds are weak,
Mere fashion’s smile, and try to win it;
The house to me may lowly be,
If I but like the people in it.
—Swain.
—Swain.
There is no such certain evidence of friendship as never to overlook the sins and failings of our brethren. Hast thou seen them at enmity? Reconcile them. Hast thou seen them set on unlawful gain? Check them. Hast thou seen them wronged? Stand up in their defense. It is not on them but on thyself thou art conferring the chief benefit. It is for this purpose that we are friends—that we may be of good service to one another. A man will listen in a different spirit to a friend. An indifferent person he will regard perhaps with suspicion, and so in like manner an instructor, but not so a true friend.
—St. Chrysostom.
Friendship, love and piety, ought to be handled with a sort of mysterious secrecy; they ought to be spoken of only in the rare moments of perfect confidence.
—Novalis.
I weigh my friend’s affection with mine own.
—Shakespeare.
As ships meet at sea,—a moment together, when words of greeting must be spoken, and then away upon the deep,—so men meet in this world; and I think we should cross no man’s path without hailing him, and if he needs, give him supplies.
—Henry Ward Beecher.
Are we ever truly read, save by the one that loves us best? Love is blind, the phrase runs. Nay, I would rather say, love sees as God sees, and with infinite wisdom has infinite pardon.
—Ouida.
As earth pours freely to the seaHer thousand streams of wealth untoldGlad that its very sands are gold.So flows my silent life to thee.
As earth pours freely to the seaHer thousand streams of wealth untoldGlad that its very sands are gold.So flows my silent life to thee.
As earth pours freely to the seaHer thousand streams of wealth untoldGlad that its very sands are gold.So flows my silent life to thee.
As earth pours freely to the sea
Her thousand streams of wealth untold
Glad that its very sands are gold.
So flows my silent life to thee.
The best conduct a man can adopt is that which gains him the esteem of others without depriving him of his own.
—Talmud.
And the finest fellow of all would be the one who could be glad to have lived because the world was chiefly miserable, and his life had come to help some one who needed it.
—Eliot.
Talk not of wasted affection,Affection never was wasted;If it enrich not the heart of another,Its water returningBack to their springs, like the rain,Shall fill them full of refreshment;That which the fountain sends forthReturns again to the fountain.—Longfellow.
Talk not of wasted affection,Affection never was wasted;If it enrich not the heart of another,Its water returningBack to their springs, like the rain,Shall fill them full of refreshment;That which the fountain sends forthReturns again to the fountain.—Longfellow.
Talk not of wasted affection,Affection never was wasted;If it enrich not the heart of another,Its water returningBack to their springs, like the rain,Shall fill them full of refreshment;That which the fountain sends forthReturns again to the fountain.
Talk not of wasted affection,
Affection never was wasted;
If it enrich not the heart of another,
Its water returning
Back to their springs, like the rain,
Shall fill them full of refreshment;
That which the fountain sends forth
Returns again to the fountain.
—Longfellow.
—Longfellow.
Beyond all wealth, honour, or even health, is the attachment we form to noble souls; because to become one with the good, generous, and true, is to become in a measure good, generous, and true, ourselves.
—Arnold.
They who love best need friendship most,Hearts only thrive on varied good;And he who gathers from a hostOf friendly hearts his daily food,Is the best friend that we can boast.—Holland.
They who love best need friendship most,Hearts only thrive on varied good;And he who gathers from a hostOf friendly hearts his daily food,Is the best friend that we can boast.—Holland.
They who love best need friendship most,Hearts only thrive on varied good;And he who gathers from a hostOf friendly hearts his daily food,Is the best friend that we can boast.
They who love best need friendship most,
Hearts only thrive on varied good;
And he who gathers from a host
Of friendly hearts his daily food,
Is the best friend that we can boast.
—Holland.
—Holland.
And so farewell! perchance on EarthGod’s finger—as ’twixt thee and me—Will never make that wonder clearWhy thus it drew me unto thee.—Memnon.
And so farewell! perchance on EarthGod’s finger—as ’twixt thee and me—Will never make that wonder clearWhy thus it drew me unto thee.—Memnon.
And so farewell! perchance on EarthGod’s finger—as ’twixt thee and me—Will never make that wonder clearWhy thus it drew me unto thee.
And so farewell! perchance on Earth
God’s finger—as ’twixt thee and me—
Will never make that wonder clear
Why thus it drew me unto thee.
—Memnon.
—Memnon.
Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you friendshipLet me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest.—Longfellow.
Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you friendshipLet me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest.—Longfellow.
Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you friendshipLet me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest.
Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who offer you friendship
Let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and dearest.
—Longfellow.
—Longfellow.
We become like those whom we habitually admire.
—Drummond.
Have love; not love alone for one,But man as man thy brother call,And scatter like the circling sunThy charities on all.—Schiller.
Have love; not love alone for one,But man as man thy brother call,And scatter like the circling sunThy charities on all.—Schiller.
Have love; not love alone for one,But man as man thy brother call,And scatter like the circling sunThy charities on all.
Have love; not love alone for one,
But man as man thy brother call,
And scatter like the circling sun
Thy charities on all.
—Schiller.
—Schiller.
I come here as your friend,—I am your friend.
—Longfellow.
Do not form friendships hastily, but once formed hold fast to them. It is equally discreditable to have no friends, and to be always changing one’s acquaintances.
It takes a lifetime of close intimacies to convince each of us, of our absolute, essential loneliness; to make us feel that speech is only clamour, that intercourse only means points of contact, that solitude is often our only substitute for peace.
—Esler.
Only a shelter for my head I sought,One stormy winter night;To me the blessing of my life was brought,Making the whole world bright.How shall I thank thee for a gift so sweet,O dearest Heavenly Friend?I sought a resting-place for weary feet,And found my journey’s end.Only the latchet of a friendly doorMy timid fingers tried;A loving heart, with all its precious store,To me was opened wide.I asked for shelter from the passing shower,—My sun shall always shine!I would have sat beside the hearth one hour,—And the whole heart was mine!—Ruckert.
Only a shelter for my head I sought,One stormy winter night;To me the blessing of my life was brought,Making the whole world bright.How shall I thank thee for a gift so sweet,O dearest Heavenly Friend?I sought a resting-place for weary feet,And found my journey’s end.Only the latchet of a friendly doorMy timid fingers tried;A loving heart, with all its precious store,To me was opened wide.I asked for shelter from the passing shower,—My sun shall always shine!I would have sat beside the hearth one hour,—And the whole heart was mine!—Ruckert.
Only a shelter for my head I sought,One stormy winter night;To me the blessing of my life was brought,Making the whole world bright.How shall I thank thee for a gift so sweet,O dearest Heavenly Friend?I sought a resting-place for weary feet,And found my journey’s end.
Only a shelter for my head I sought,
One stormy winter night;
To me the blessing of my life was brought,
Making the whole world bright.
How shall I thank thee for a gift so sweet,
O dearest Heavenly Friend?
I sought a resting-place for weary feet,
And found my journey’s end.
Only the latchet of a friendly doorMy timid fingers tried;A loving heart, with all its precious store,To me was opened wide.I asked for shelter from the passing shower,—My sun shall always shine!I would have sat beside the hearth one hour,—And the whole heart was mine!
Only the latchet of a friendly door
My timid fingers tried;
A loving heart, with all its precious store,
To me was opened wide.
I asked for shelter from the passing shower,—
My sun shall always shine!
I would have sat beside the hearth one hour,—
And the whole heart was mine!
—Ruckert.
—Ruckert.
Friends! I have but one, and he, I hear, is not in town; nay, can have but one friend, for a true heart admits of but one friendship as of one love. But in having that friend I have a thousand.
—Wycherley.
We have been friends together,In sunshine and in shade;Since first beneath the chestnut treesIn infancy we play’d.But coldness dwells within my heart—A cloud is on thy brow;We have been friends together—Shall a light word part us now?We have been gay together;We have laugh’d at little jests;For the fount of hope was gushing,Warm and joyous in our breasts.But laughter now hath fled thy lip,And sullen glooms thy brow;We have been gay together—Shall a light word part us now?We have been sad together—We have wept with bitter tears,O’er the grass grown graves, where slumber’dThe hopes of early years.The voices which are silent thereWould bid thee clear thy brow;We have been sad together—O what shall part us now?—Norton.
We have been friends together,In sunshine and in shade;Since first beneath the chestnut treesIn infancy we play’d.But coldness dwells within my heart—A cloud is on thy brow;We have been friends together—Shall a light word part us now?We have been gay together;We have laugh’d at little jests;For the fount of hope was gushing,Warm and joyous in our breasts.But laughter now hath fled thy lip,And sullen glooms thy brow;We have been gay together—Shall a light word part us now?We have been sad together—We have wept with bitter tears,O’er the grass grown graves, where slumber’dThe hopes of early years.The voices which are silent thereWould bid thee clear thy brow;We have been sad together—O what shall part us now?—Norton.
We have been friends together,In sunshine and in shade;Since first beneath the chestnut treesIn infancy we play’d.But coldness dwells within my heart—A cloud is on thy brow;We have been friends together—Shall a light word part us now?
We have been friends together,
In sunshine and in shade;
Since first beneath the chestnut trees
In infancy we play’d.
But coldness dwells within my heart—
A cloud is on thy brow;
We have been friends together—
Shall a light word part us now?
We have been gay together;We have laugh’d at little jests;For the fount of hope was gushing,Warm and joyous in our breasts.But laughter now hath fled thy lip,And sullen glooms thy brow;We have been gay together—Shall a light word part us now?
We have been gay together;
We have laugh’d at little jests;
For the fount of hope was gushing,
Warm and joyous in our breasts.
But laughter now hath fled thy lip,
And sullen glooms thy brow;
We have been gay together—
Shall a light word part us now?
We have been sad together—We have wept with bitter tears,O’er the grass grown graves, where slumber’dThe hopes of early years.The voices which are silent thereWould bid thee clear thy brow;We have been sad together—O what shall part us now?
We have been sad together—
We have wept with bitter tears,
O’er the grass grown graves, where slumber’d
The hopes of early years.
The voices which are silent there
Would bid thee clear thy brow;
We have been sad together—
O what shall part us now?
—Norton.
—Norton.
For every leaf the loveliest flower,Which beauty sighs for from her bower—For every star a drop of dew—For every sun a sky of blue—For every heart, a heart as true.—Bailey.
For every leaf the loveliest flower,Which beauty sighs for from her bower—For every star a drop of dew—For every sun a sky of blue—For every heart, a heart as true.—Bailey.
For every leaf the loveliest flower,Which beauty sighs for from her bower—For every star a drop of dew—For every sun a sky of blue—For every heart, a heart as true.
For every leaf the loveliest flower,
Which beauty sighs for from her bower—
For every star a drop of dew—
For every sun a sky of blue—
For every heart, a heart as true.
—Bailey.
—Bailey.
Alas! they had been friends in youth;But whispering tongues can poison truth:And constancy lives in realms above;And life is thorny, and youth is vain;And to be wroth with one we love,Doth work like madness in the brain.And thus it chanced, as I divine,With Roland and Sir Leoline.Each spake words of high disdainAnd insult to his heart’s best brother:They parted—ne’er to meet again!But never either found another;To free the hollow heart from paining—They stood aloof, the scars remaining,Like cliffs which had been rent asunder;A dreary sea now flows between,But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,Shall wholly do away, I ween,The marks of that which once hath been.—Coleridge.
Alas! they had been friends in youth;But whispering tongues can poison truth:And constancy lives in realms above;And life is thorny, and youth is vain;And to be wroth with one we love,Doth work like madness in the brain.And thus it chanced, as I divine,With Roland and Sir Leoline.Each spake words of high disdainAnd insult to his heart’s best brother:They parted—ne’er to meet again!But never either found another;To free the hollow heart from paining—They stood aloof, the scars remaining,Like cliffs which had been rent asunder;A dreary sea now flows between,But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,Shall wholly do away, I ween,The marks of that which once hath been.—Coleridge.
Alas! they had been friends in youth;But whispering tongues can poison truth:And constancy lives in realms above;And life is thorny, and youth is vain;And to be wroth with one we love,Doth work like madness in the brain.And thus it chanced, as I divine,With Roland and Sir Leoline.Each spake words of high disdainAnd insult to his heart’s best brother:They parted—ne’er to meet again!But never either found another;To free the hollow heart from paining—They stood aloof, the scars remaining,Like cliffs which had been rent asunder;A dreary sea now flows between,But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,Shall wholly do away, I ween,The marks of that which once hath been.
Alas! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth:
And constancy lives in realms above;
And life is thorny, and youth is vain;
And to be wroth with one we love,
Doth work like madness in the brain.
And thus it chanced, as I divine,
With Roland and Sir Leoline.
Each spake words of high disdain
And insult to his heart’s best brother:
They parted—ne’er to meet again!
But never either found another;
To free the hollow heart from paining—
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder;
A dreary sea now flows between,
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,
Shall wholly do away, I ween,
The marks of that which once hath been.
—Coleridge.
—Coleridge.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thoughtI summon up remembrance of things past,I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste;Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,And weep afresh love’s long since cancell’d woe,And moan the expense of many a vanish’d sight;Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,And heavily from woe to woe tell o’erThe sad account of fore-bemoan’ed moan,Which I new pay as if not paid before.But if the while I think on thee, dear Friend,All losses are restored, and sorrows end.—Shakespeare.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thoughtI summon up remembrance of things past,I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste;Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,And weep afresh love’s long since cancell’d woe,And moan the expense of many a vanish’d sight;Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,And heavily from woe to woe tell o’erThe sad account of fore-bemoan’ed moan,Which I new pay as if not paid before.But if the while I think on thee, dear Friend,All losses are restored, and sorrows end.—Shakespeare.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thoughtI summon up remembrance of things past,I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste;Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,And weep afresh love’s long since cancell’d woe,And moan the expense of many a vanish’d sight;Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,And heavily from woe to woe tell o’erThe sad account of fore-bemoan’ed moan,Which I new pay as if not paid before.But if the while I think on thee, dear Friend,All losses are restored, and sorrows end.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste;
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love’s long since cancell’d woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish’d sight;
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er
The sad account of fore-bemoan’ed moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear Friend,
All losses are restored, and sorrows end.
—Shakespeare.
—Shakespeare.
Since we deserved the name of friends,And thine effect so lives in me,A part of mine may live in theeAnd move thee on to noble ends.—Tennyson.
Since we deserved the name of friends,And thine effect so lives in me,A part of mine may live in theeAnd move thee on to noble ends.—Tennyson.
Since we deserved the name of friends,And thine effect so lives in me,A part of mine may live in theeAnd move thee on to noble ends.
Since we deserved the name of friends,
And thine effect so lives in me,
A part of mine may live in thee
And move thee on to noble ends.
—Tennyson.
—Tennyson.
Love is the greatest of human affections, and friendship the noblest and most refined improvement of love.
Sheik Schubli, taken sick, was borne one dayUnto the hospital. A host the wayBehind him thronged. “Who are you?” Schubli cried.“We are your friends,” the multitude replied.Sheik Schubli threw a stone at them; they fled.“Come back, ye false pretenders!” then he said;“A friend is one who, ranked among his foes,By him he loves, and stoned, and beat with blows,Will still remain as friendly as before,And to his friendship only add the more.”—Alger, from Jamee.
Sheik Schubli, taken sick, was borne one dayUnto the hospital. A host the wayBehind him thronged. “Who are you?” Schubli cried.“We are your friends,” the multitude replied.Sheik Schubli threw a stone at them; they fled.“Come back, ye false pretenders!” then he said;“A friend is one who, ranked among his foes,By him he loves, and stoned, and beat with blows,Will still remain as friendly as before,And to his friendship only add the more.”—Alger, from Jamee.
Sheik Schubli, taken sick, was borne one dayUnto the hospital. A host the wayBehind him thronged. “Who are you?” Schubli cried.“We are your friends,” the multitude replied.Sheik Schubli threw a stone at them; they fled.“Come back, ye false pretenders!” then he said;“A friend is one who, ranked among his foes,By him he loves, and stoned, and beat with blows,Will still remain as friendly as before,And to his friendship only add the more.”
Sheik Schubli, taken sick, was borne one day
Unto the hospital. A host the way
Behind him thronged. “Who are you?” Schubli cried.
“We are your friends,” the multitude replied.
Sheik Schubli threw a stone at them; they fled.
“Come back, ye false pretenders!” then he said;
“A friend is one who, ranked among his foes,
By him he loves, and stoned, and beat with blows,
Will still remain as friendly as before,
And to his friendship only add the more.”
—Alger, from Jamee.
—Alger, from Jamee.
In all misfortunes the greatest consolation is a sympathizing friend.
—Cervantes.
Friendship is constant in all other thingsSave in the office and affairs of love.—Shakespeare.
Friendship is constant in all other thingsSave in the office and affairs of love.—Shakespeare.
Friendship is constant in all other thingsSave in the office and affairs of love.
Friendship is constant in all other things
Save in the office and affairs of love.
—Shakespeare.
—Shakespeare.
Ah, how good it feels,The hand of an old friend!—Longfellow.
Ah, how good it feels,The hand of an old friend!—Longfellow.
Ah, how good it feels,The hand of an old friend!
Ah, how good it feels,
The hand of an old friend!
—Longfellow.
—Longfellow.
The poor, the humble, and your dependents, will often be afraid to ask their dues from you; be the more mindful of it yourself.
—Helps.
In pure friendship there is a sensation of felicity which only the well-bred can attain.
—La Bruyere.
Hitherto doth love on fortune tend;For who not needs shall never lack a friend.—Shakespeare.
Hitherto doth love on fortune tend;For who not needs shall never lack a friend.—Shakespeare.
Hitherto doth love on fortune tend;For who not needs shall never lack a friend.
Hitherto doth love on fortune tend;
For who not needs shall never lack a friend.
—Shakespeare.
—Shakespeare.
Such help as we can give each other in this world is a debt we owe each other.
—Ruskin.
Keep your undrest, familiar styleFor strangers, but respect your friend.—Patmore.
Keep your undrest, familiar styleFor strangers, but respect your friend.—Patmore.
Keep your undrest, familiar styleFor strangers, but respect your friend.
Keep your undrest, familiar style
For strangers, but respect your friend.
—Patmore.
—Patmore.
Let our old acquaintance be renewed.—Shakespeare.
Let our old acquaintance be renewed.—Shakespeare.
Let our old acquaintance be renewed.
Let our old acquaintance be renewed.
—Shakespeare.
—Shakespeare.
Here is a dear, a true industrious friend.—Shakespeare.
Here is a dear, a true industrious friend.—Shakespeare.
Here is a dear, a true industrious friend.
Here is a dear, a true industrious friend.
—Shakespeare.
—Shakespeare.
The books for young people say a great deal about the selection of friends; it is because they really have nothing to say about friends. They mean associates and confidents merely. Friendship takes place between those who have an affinity for one another, and is a perfectly natural and inevitable result. No professions or advances will avail.
—Thoreau.
Ah, friend, let us be trueTo one another! For the world, which seemsTo lie before us like a land of dreams,So various, so beautiful, so new,Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;And we are here as on a darkling plainSwept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,Where ignorant armies clash by night.—Arnold.
Ah, friend, let us be trueTo one another! For the world, which seemsTo lie before us like a land of dreams,So various, so beautiful, so new,Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;And we are here as on a darkling plainSwept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,Where ignorant armies clash by night.—Arnold.
Ah, friend, let us be trueTo one another! For the world, which seemsTo lie before us like a land of dreams,So various, so beautiful, so new,Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;And we are here as on a darkling plainSwept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,Where ignorant armies clash by night.
Ah, friend, let us be true
To one another! For the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
—Arnold.
—Arnold.
Who in want a hollow friend doth try,Directly seasons him his enemy.—Shakespeare.
Who in want a hollow friend doth try,Directly seasons him his enemy.—Shakespeare.
Who in want a hollow friend doth try,Directly seasons him his enemy.
Who in want a hollow friend doth try,
Directly seasons him his enemy.
—Shakespeare.
—Shakespeare.
First of all things for friendship there must be that delightful, indefinable state called feeling at ease with your companion,—the one man, the one woman out of a multitude who interests you, meets your thoughts and tastes.
—Duhring.
One whom I knew intimately, and whose memory I revere, once in my hearing remarked that, “unless we love people we cannot understand them.” This was a new light to me.
—Rossetti.
I can nothing render but allegiant thanksMy prayers to Heaven for you, my loyalty,Which ever has, and ever shall be, growing,Till death, that winter, kill it.—Shakespeare.
I can nothing render but allegiant thanksMy prayers to Heaven for you, my loyalty,Which ever has, and ever shall be, growing,Till death, that winter, kill it.—Shakespeare.
I can nothing render but allegiant thanksMy prayers to Heaven for you, my loyalty,Which ever has, and ever shall be, growing,Till death, that winter, kill it.
I can nothing render but allegiant thanks
My prayers to Heaven for you, my loyalty,
Which ever has, and ever shall be, growing,
Till death, that winter, kill it.
—Shakespeare.
—Shakespeare.
A man’s love is the measure of his fitness for good or bad company here or elsewhere. Men are tattooed with their special beliefs, like so many South Sea Islanders; but a real human heart with divine love in it, beats with the same glow under all patterns of all earth’s thousand tribes.
—Holmes.
The love of man to woman is a thing common and of course, and at first partakes more of instinct and passion than of choice; but true friendship between man and man is infinite and immortal.
—Plato.