2024

Of earthly goods, the best is a good wife;A bad, the bitterest curse of human life.

—Simonides.

Be joined to thy equal in rank,Or the foot of pride will kick at thee;Let no one have thy confidence, O wife,Saving thy husband:Have not a friend more intimate, O husband,Than thy wife.

What thou bidd'st,Unargued, I obey; so God ordains:God is thy law; thou mine: to know no more,Is woman's happiest knowledge, and her praise.

—Milton.

When Sir Albert Morton died, his wife's grief was such that she shortly followed him, and was laid by his side.Wotton's two lines on the event have been celebrated as containing a volume in seventeen words:

"He first deceased; she for a little triedTo live without him, liked it not, and died."

Certainly there are few higher tributes in the world to a good husband than this.

The wife is the key of the house.

A man's best fortune—or his worst—is a wife.

A modest, chaste, and an obedient wife,Lifts her poor husband to a knightly throne:What though the livelong day with toils be rife,The solace of his cares at night's his own.If she be modest and her words be kind,Mark not her beauty, or her want of grace;The fairest woman, if deformed in mindWill in thy heart's affections find no place:Dazzling as Eden's beauties to the eye,In outward form: foul is her face within.Better in dungeon, bound with chains, to lie,Than, with at home, a wife of frowning mien.Better bare feet than pinching shoes. The woesOf travel are less hard than broils at home.Contentment's door upon that mansion close,Whence wrangling women's high-pitched voices come.

—From Littell's Living Age.

When a man has secured a good wife he can rest on his laurels; the world has no greater prize to offer him.

When the will is ready, the feet are light.

When the will is prompt, the legs are nimble.

—Italian.

Where there is a will, there is a way.

What you leave at your death, let it be without controversy, else the lawyers will be your heirs.

—Osborn.

I hear the wind among the treesPlaying celestial symphonies;I see the branches downward bent,Like keys of some great instrument.

—H. W. Longfellow.

God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.

—Henri Estienne.

Winter finds out what Summer lays up.

—Hans Andersen.

It is always safe to learn, even from our enemies—seldom safe to venture to instruct, even our friends.

To know how to grow old, is the master work of wisdom, and one of the most difficult chapters in the great art of living.

—Amiel.

Youth is not the era of wisdom; let us therefore have due consideration.

—Rivarol.

He who pursues an idle wishBut climbs a tree to catch a fish.

—Chinese.

Best wishes! What avails that phrase, unlessBest services attend them.

—Plautus.

Wishing, of all employments, is the worst.

—Young.

You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come,Knock as you please, there's nobody at home.

—Pope.

An eye witness outweighs others.

—From the Latin.

No greater woeCan be, than to remember happy daysIn misery.

By telling our woes we often assuage them.

—Danish.

A fashionable woman is always in love—with herself.

Before I trust my fate to thee,Or place my hand in thine,Before I let thy future giveColor and form to mine,Before I peril all for thee,Question thy soul to-night for me.I break all slighter bonds, nor feelA shadow of regret:Is there one link within the pastThat holds thy spirit yet?Or is thy faith as clear and freeAs that which I can pledge to thee?Does there within thy dimmest dreamsA possible future shine,Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe,Untouched, unshared by mine?If so, at any pains or cost,Oh, tell me before all is lost.Look deeper still. If thou canst feelWithin thy inmost soul,That thou hast kept a portion back,While I have staked the whole,—Let no false pity spare the blow,But in true mercy tell me so.Is there within thy heart a needThat mine cannot fulfil?One cord that any other handCould better wake or still?Speak now—lest at some future dayMy whole life wither and decay.

Before I trust my fate to thee,Or place my hand in thine,Before I let thy future giveColor and form to mine,Before I peril all for thee,Question thy soul to-night for me.

I break all slighter bonds, nor feelA shadow of regret:Is there one link within the pastThat holds thy spirit yet?Or is thy faith as clear and freeAs that which I can pledge to thee?

Does there within thy dimmest dreamsA possible future shine,Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe,Untouched, unshared by mine?If so, at any pains or cost,Oh, tell me before all is lost.

Look deeper still. If thou canst feelWithin thy inmost soul,That thou hast kept a portion back,While I have staked the whole,—Let no false pity spare the blow,But in true mercy tell me so.

Is there within thy heart a needThat mine cannot fulfil?One cord that any other handCould better wake or still?Speak now—lest at some future dayMy whole life wither and decay.

—Adelaide Anne Proctor.

Seek to be good, but aim not to be great;A woman's noblest station is retreat:Her fairest virtues fly from public sight;Domestic worth,—that, shuns too strong a light.

Kindness in women,Not their beauteous looks,Shall win my love.

—Shakespeare.

Alas! I am but woman, fond and weakWithout even power my proud, pure love to speak;But oh, by all I fail in, love not meFor what I am, but what I wish to be.

Manners, not jewels, are a woman's ornament.

The woman who really wishes to refuse an aspirant to her hand contents herself with saying, No. She who explains, wants to be convinced.

Her voice was ever soft,Gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman.

—Shakespeare.

In Dr. Johnson's opinion, "a woman was well dressed, when, after seeing her, one could not remember what she had on."

A beautiful woman without fixed principles, may be likened to those fair but rootless flowers which float in streams, driven by every breeze.

Where is the man who has the power and skillTo stem the torrent of a woman's will?For if she will, she will, you may depend on't,And if she won't, she won't, and there's an end on't.

—Aaron Hill.

A woman possessing nothing but outward advantages, is like a flower without fragrance, a tree without fruit.

The happiest women, like the happiest nations, have no history.

—George Eliot.

Learn above all, how to manage women: their thousand Ahs! and Ohs! so thousand-fold, can be cured, but how,—I cannot tell.

—Goethe.

Pretty women without religion are like flowers without perfume.

In women we love that which is natural,We admire that which is acquired,And shun that which is artificial.

If thou art worn and hard besetWith sorrow that thou wouldst forget;If thou wouldst read a lesson that will keepThy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,Go to the woods and hills!—No tearsDim the sweet looks that Nature wears.

—Longfellow.

How many a day has been damped and darkened by an angry word!

No word He hath spokenWas ever yet broken.

—Anon.

Many a word at random spoken,May soothe or wound a heart that's broken.

—Sir Walter Scott.

It is as easy to draw back a stone thrown with force from the hand, as to recall a word once spoken.

The unspoken word never does harm.

For want of a word, lives often drift, and remain apart.

Rash, angry words, and spoken out of season,When passion has usurped the throne of reason,Have ruined many. Passion is unjust,And for an idle transitory gustOf gratified revenge dooms us to pay,With long repentance at a later day.

Theognis, a Greek.—Translated by Frere.

An able man shows his spirit by gentle words and resolute actions: he is neither hot nor timid.

—Chesterfield.

Words are but wind, but writing may rise up in judgment.

Stay longer—are two charming words in a friend's vocabulary.

Fair words gladden many a heart.

—Longfellow.

To a good listener few words will do.

Hard words break no bones, but they sometimes break hearts.

He that would be well spoken of,Must not speak ill of others.

Kind words are the music of the world.

—F. W. Faber.

Kind words are a bright oasis in life's great desert.

—The Coming Age.

My words fly up, my thoughts remain below,Words, without thoughts, never to Heaven go.

—Shakespeare.

Words are but pictures of our thoughts.

—Dryden.

If word of mineHave harmed thee, rashly spoken, let the windsBear all remembrance of it swift away.

There are words which cut like steel.

—Balzac.

If you think twice before you speak once, you will speak twice the better for it.

Thy words have darted hope into my soul,And comfort dawns upon me.

—Southern.

A word and a stone let go, cannot be recalled.

Like a beautiful flower, full of colour, but without perfume, are the fine, but fruitless words, of him who does not act accordingly.

—Buddha.

It would perhaps be well for many of us to have in sight the following little sentiment when writing letters:—

Words spoken are light as air;Words written are always there.

An ill-tempered letter, once sent, will sometimes embitter a life-time. We once saw an old gentleman, with a wise, fine head, calm face, and a most benevolent look, beg of a postmaster to return him a letter which he had dropped into the box. To do so, as everybody knows, is illegal; but won over by the old gentleman's importunity, the postmaster complied, upon full proof, in comparing the writing etc. being given. Then, with a beaming face, the old gentleman tore the letter into fragments, and, scattering them to the winds, exclaimed—"Ah! I've preserved my friend." The fact is, he had written a letter in a state of irritation, which was probably unjust and hurtful, but which he had wisely recalled. "Written words remain,"is not only a proverb, but a very grave caution; and hence the advice—never write in anger, or, at any rate, keep your letter till next morning, when you probably will be cool and in a better frame of mind.

A good beginning is half the work.

—Euripides.

Art little? Do thy little well:And for thy comfort knowThe great can do their greatest workNo better than, just so.

—Goethe.

He who is willing to work finds it hard to wait.

Never be ashamed of honest work. It is far better to be a good blacksmith than a bad lawyer.

Youth is the seed-time, old age the harvest. If we lay nothing up for old age it will be as related in the fable; namely: A cricket came to the ant, and said, "Give me something to eat?" The ant asked, "What did you in the summer?" "I whistled," said the cricket. "Then," said the ant, "if you whistled in summer while I was working, you may dance in the winter," and gave her nothing.

We are best known by what we do.

One's work is the best company.

—French.

I am often tired in, but never of, my work.

—Whitefield.

We often hear of people breaking down from over-work, but nine cases out of ten they are really suffering from worry or anxiety.

—Sir John Lubbock.

Unless a man works, he cannot find out what he is able to do.

I cannot abide to see men throw away their tools the minute the clock begins to strike, as if they took no pleasure in their work, and was afraid o' doing a stroke too much. The very grindstone 'll go on turning a bit after you loose it.

—George Eliot.

When my bier is borne to the graveAnd its burden is laid in the groundThink not that Rumi is there,Nor cry, like the mourners around,He is gone,—all is over—farewell!But go on your ways again,And forgetting your own petty loss,Remember his infinite gain.For, know that this world is a tent,And life but a dream in the night,Till death plucks the curtain apartAnd awakens the sleeper with light.

—R. H. Stoddard, From the Persian.

The knowledge of the world is only to be acquired in the world, and not in the closet.

Shall I tell you what a princess wrote—the Princess Amelia, who was an aunt of our good Queen Victoria, and who after a long and painful sickness and trial died at an early age?—

"Unthinking, idle, wild, and young,I laughed and danced, I talked and sung,And proud of health, of freedom, vain,Dreamt not of sorrow, care, or pain.Oh! then, in those bright hours of glee,I thought the world was made for me.But when the hour of trial came,And sickness shook my feeble frame,And folly's gay pursuits were o'er,And I could sing and dance no more—Oh! then, I thought how sad 'twould be,Were only this world made for me."

But when the hour of trial came,And sickness shook my feeble frame,And folly's gay pursuits were o'er,And I could sing and dance no more—Oh! then, I thought how sad 'twould be,Were only this world made for me."

—F. W. Farrar, D. D.

A man's quarrel with the world, is only a quarrel with himself.

All my theology is reduced to this narrow compass—Jesus Christ came into this world to save sinners.

—A. Alexander.

The world does not seem to care for honorable lives as much as it does for a good bank-account.

He who would enjoy many friends, and live happy in the world, must often be deaf, dumb, and blind, to its vices and follies.

Said the Rev. W. J. Dawson: "I know in my own heart how soon the spirit of devoutness fades when from any cause I am deprived of public worship for any length of time. And when I see a youth to whom religious worship has been the atmosphere of his childhood, gradually withdrawing himself from the means of grace, I tremble for him, because I have seen what that means. I can think of men whom I loved, and who now lead wretched and degraded lives, and all their misery began when they forsook the tabernacles of their God."

A soft answer turneth away wrath.

—Proverbs xv, 1v.

Call not that man wretched, who, whatever ills he suffers, has a child to love.

—Southey.

A good life keeps off wrinkles.

—German.

What is writ, is writ—Would it were worthier.

It is a remarkable fact, that no man can ever get rid of the style of handwriting peculiar to his country. If he be English, he always writes in English style; if French, in French style; if German, Italian, or Spanish, in the style peculiar to his nation. Professor B—— states:—"I am acquainted with a Frenchman, who has passed all his life in England, who speaks English like one of our own countrymen, and writes it with ten times the correctness of ninety-nine in a hundred of us; but yet who cannot, for the life of him, imitate our mode of writing. I knew a Scotch youth, who was educated entirely in France, and resided eighteen years in that country, mixing exclusively with French people, but who, although he had a French writing-master, and, perhaps, never saw anything but French writing in his life, or rarely, yet wrote exactly in the Scotch style."

—D'Israeli.

The word that is heard, passes away; the letter that is written,—remains.

Every time you avoid doing wrong,You increase your inclination to do right.

The remedy for wrongs is to forget them.

My ear is pained, my soul is sick with every day's report of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled.

—Cowper.

Yankee.—The word Yankee is believed to have been derived from the manner in which the Indians endeavored to pronounce the word English, which they rendered Yenghees, whence the word Yankee.

—From "Milledulcia."

Why doth one man's yawning make another yawn?

—Burton.

How often it is like autumn leaves, many hopes and ambitions that yesterday were bright and strong, are now, alas, dead!

Thy yesterday is past,Thy to-day, thy future,Thy to-morrow, is a secret.

—From The Talmud.

Speak gently to the young, for theyWill have enough to bear—Pass through this life as best they may,'Tis full of anxious care.

—Geo. W. Hangford.

How beautiful is youth! How bright it gleamsWith its illusions, aspirations, dreams!Book of beginnings, story without end,Each maid a heroine, and each man a friend!All possibilities are in its hands:No danger daunts it, and no foe withstands:In its sublime audacity of faith,"Be thou removed!" it, to the mountain, saith.

An easy youth, generally means a hard old age.

As I approve of a youth that has something of the old man in him, so I am no less pleased with an old man that has something of the youth.

—Cicero.

Youth is ever apt to judge in haste,And lose the medium in the wild extreme.

—Aaron Hill.

Happy the youth that finds the brideWhose birth is to his own allied,The sweetest joy of life:But oh, the crowds of wretched soulsFetter'd to minds of different mouldsAnd chain'd t' eternal strife!

—Dr. Isaac Watts.

In youth we feel richer for every new illusion; in maturer years, for every one we lose.

What is youth?—a dancing billow,Winds behind, and rocks before!

—Wordsworth.

You youngsters nowadays think you're to begin with living well, and working easy: you've no notion of running afoot before you get on horseback.

Heavy work in youth is sweet repose in old age.

—From the Italian.

Excessive Zeal.—An Indian, having heard from a white man some strictures on zeal, replied—"I don't know about having too much zeal; but I think it is better the pot shouldboil over thannot boil at all."

—Macleod.

Back to Index Next