Maxioms by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The holiest of all holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart; the secret anniversaries of the heart.
The holiest of all holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart; the secret anniversaries of the heart.
Love gives itself; it is not bought.
Love gives itself; it is not bought.
Men as a whole judge more with their eyes than with their hands.
Men as a whole judge more with their eyes than with their hands.
O child! O new-born denizen
Of life's great city! on thy head
The glory of morn is read more
O child! O new-born denizen
Of life's great city! on thy head
The glory of morn is shed,
Like a celestial benison!
Here at the portal thou dost stand,
And with thy little hand
Thou openest the mysterious gate
Into the future's undiscovered land.
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.
