Philip James Bailey quotes:

Let each man think himself an act of God, His mind a thought, his life a breath of God; And let each try, by great thoughts and good deeds, To show the most of Heaven he hath in him.

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

Poets are all who love, who feel great truths, And tell them; and the truth of truths is love.

Respect is what we owe; love, what we give.

Prayer is the spirit speaking truth to Truth.

Simplicity is natures first step, and the last of art.

Envy's a coal comes hissing hot from Hell.

The death-bed of a day, how beautiful!

Blest is he whose heart is the home of the great dead and their great thoughts.

America, thou half-brother of the world; with something good and bad of every land.

Death is another life.

There is no surer mark of the absence of the highest moral and intellectual qualities than a cold reception of excellence.

Write to the mind and heart, and let the ear Glean after what it can.

Hell is more bearable than nothingness.

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

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

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

Music tells no truths.

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

The dew, 'Tis of the tears which stars weep, sweet with joy.

Surely the stars are images of love.

For ivy climbs the crumbling hall To decorate decay.

England! my country, great and free! Heart of the world, I leap to thee!

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

Lowliness is the base of every virtue, And he who goes the lowest builds the safest.

Music lives within thy lips Like a nightingale in roses.

Imagination is the air of mind.

The sole equality on earth is death.

I am tired of looking on what is, One might as well see beauty never more, As look upon it with an empty eye. I would this world were over. I am tired.

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

What are ye orbs? The words of God? the Scriptures of the skies?

Lips like rosebuds peeping out of snow.

The long days are no happier than the short ones

We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives,Who thinks most, feels noblest, acts the best.

Dear Lord, our God and Saviour! for Thy gifts The world were poor in thanks, though every soul Were to do nought but breathe them, every blade Of grass, and every atomie of earth To utter it like dew.

And these are joys, like beauty, but skin deep.

See the gold sunshine patching, And streaming and streaking across The gray-green oaks; and catching, By its soft brown beard, the moss.

See the sun! God's crest upon His azure shield, the Heavens.

The sun, centre and sire of light, The keystone of the world-built arch of heaven.

I cannot love as I have loved, And yet I know not why; It is the one great woe of life To feel all feeling die.

We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not figures on a dial. We should count time by heart throbs. He most lives who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.

Art is man's nature; nature is God's art.

A poet not in love is out at sea; He must have a lay-figure.

Ah, nothing comes to us too soon but sorrow.

All are of the race of God, and have in themselves good.

All things that speak of heaven speak of peace.

Any heart turned Godward feels more joyIn one short hour of prayer, than e'er was raisedBy all the feasts of earth since its foundation.

Application is the price to be paid for mental acquisition. To have the harvest, we must sow the seed.

Art is a man's nature; nature is God's art.

As the master so the valet.

Ask not of me, love, what is love? Ask what is good of God above; Ask of the great sun what is light; Ask what is darkness of the night; Ask sin of what may be forgiven; Ask what is happiness of heaven; Ask what is folly of the crowd; Ask what is fashion of the shroud; Ask what is sweetness of thy kiss; Ask of thyself what beauty is.

Blessings star forth forever; but a curse is like a cloud, it passes.

Burn to be great, Pay not thy praise to lofty things alone. The plains are everlasting as the hills, The bard cannot have two pursuits; aught else Comes on the mind with the like shock as though Two worlds had gone to war, and met in air.

Corruption springs from light: 'tis one same power Creates, preserves, destroys; matter whereon It works, on e'er self-transmutative form, Common to now the living, now the dead.

Could I love less, I should be happier now.

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

Death is the universal salt of states; Blood is the base of all things--law and war.

Death, thou art infinite; it is life is little.

Dewdrops, Nature's tears, which she Sheds in her own breast for the fair which die. The sun insists on gladness; but at night, When he is gone, poor Nature loves to weep.

Doubt is the shadow of truth.

Dreams are rudiments Of the great state to come. We dream what is About to happen.

Every believer is God's miracle.

Evil and good are God's right hand and left.

Evil is limited. One cannot form A scheme for universal evil.

Evil then results from imperfection.

Fine thoughts are wealth, for the right use of which Men are and ought to be accountable,-- If not to Thee, to those they influence.

Fulfill thy fate! Be-do-bear-and thank God.

Grief hallows hearts, even while it ages heads.

He hath no power that hath not power to use.

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.

He who has most of heart knows most of sorrow.

Hell is the wrath of God--His hate of sin.

How slight a chance may raise or sink a soul!

I cannot be content with less than heaven.

I cannot be content with less than heaven; Living, and comprehensive of all life. Thee, universal heaven, celestial all; Thee, sacrjd seat of intellective time; Field of the soul 's best wisdom : home of truth , Star-throned.

I have a heart with room for every joy .

I run the gauntlet of a file of doubts, Each one of which down hurls me to the ground.

If all were rich, gold would be penniless.

It is fine to stand upon some lofty mountain thought, and feel the spirit stretch into a view.

It is much less what we do than what we think, which fits us for the future.

It is sad To see the light of beauty wane away, Know eyes are dimming, bosoms shrivelling, feet Losing their springs, and limbs their lily roundness; But it is worse to feel the heart-spring gone, To lose hope, care not for the coming thing, And feel all things go to decay within us.

It matters not how long we live but how.

Leave the poor Some time for self-improvement. Let them not Be forced to grind the bones out of their arms For bread, but have some space to think and feel Like moral and immortal creatures.

Let us think less of men and more of God.

Life hath more awe than death.

Life is as serious a thing as death.

Life is less than nothing without love.

Life's but a means unto an end, that end, Beginning, mean, and end to all things--God.

Look on the bee upon the wing 'mong flowers; How brave, how bright his life! then mark, him hiv'd, Cramp'd, cringing in his self-built, social cell, Thus it is in the world-hive; most where men Lie deep in cities as in drifts.

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

Love spends his all, and still hath store.

Man is one; and he hath one great heart. It is thus we feel, with a gigantic throb athwart the sea, each other's rights and wrongs; thus are we men.

Men might be better if we better deemed of them.

My favoured temple is an humble heart.

Nature means Necessity.

Naught but God Can satisfy the soul.

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

Night brings out stars as sorrow shows us truths.

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.

None but God can fill the perfect whole.

None but the brave and beautiful can love.

Not a single path Of thought I tread, but that it leads to God.

O, there is naught on earth worth being known but God and our own souls!

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.

Oh, could we lift the future's sable shroud.

One thought settles a life, an immortality.

Poetry is itself a thing of God; He made his prophets poets; and the more We feel of poesie do we become Like God in love and power,-under-makers.

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

Sorrow is a stone that crushes a single bearer to the ground, while two are able to carry it with ease.

Star canto: star speaks light, and world to world Repeats the passage of the universe To God; the name of Christ--the one great word Well worth all languages in earth or heaven.

Stars which stand as thick as dewdrops on the field of heaven.

The course of Nature seems a course of Death, And nothingness the whole substantial thing.

The death-change comes. Death is another life. We bow our heads At going out, we think, and enter straight Another golden chamber of the king's Larger than this we leave, and lovelier. And then in shadowy glimpses, disconnect, The story, flower-like, closes thus its leaves. The will of God is all in all. He makes, Destroys, remakes, for His own pleasure, all.

The goodness of the heart is shown in deeds Of peacefulness and kindness. Hand and heart Are one thing with the good, as thou should'st be. Do my words trouble thee? then treasure them, Pain overgot gives peace, as death doth Heaven. All things that speak of Heaven speak of peace.

The ground of all great thoughts is sadness.

The heart is its own Fate.

The hero is the world-man, in whose heart One passion stands for all, the most indulged.

The long days are no happier than the short ones.

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.

The strongest passion which I have is honor.