James Wood, comp. Dictionary of Quotations. 1899.
Moore
Beholding heaven and feeling hell.
But there’s nothing half so sweet in life / As love’s young dream.
Disguise our bondage as we will, / ’Tis woman, woman rules us still.
Duty demands the parent’s voice / Should sanctify the daughter’s choice, / In that is due obedience shown; / To choose belongs to her alone.
Earth hath no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.
Faith, fanatic faith, once wedded fast, / To save dear falsehood, hugs it to the last.
First flower of the earth and first gem of the sea.
Humility, that low, sweet root / From which all heavenly virtues shoot.
Let fate do her worst; there are moments of joy, / Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy; / Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care, / And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
My only books / Were woman’s looks,— / And folly’s all they’ve taught me.
No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, / All earth forgot, and all heaven around us.
Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea! / Jehovah has triumph’d, His people are free.
The faint, exquisite music of a dream.
The heart that is soonest awake to the flowers is always the first to be touched by the thorns.
The minds of some of our statesmen, like the pupil of the human eye, contract themselves the more the stronger light there is shed upon them.
There’s nothing half so sweet in life / As love’s young dream.
This narrow isthmus ’twixt two boundless seas, / The past, the future—two eternities.
This world is all a fleeting show, / For man’s illusion given: / The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, / Deceitful shine, deceitful flow, / There’s nothing true but heaven.
To sigh, yet feel no pain; / To weep, yet scarce know why; / To sport an hour with beauty’s charm, / Then throw it idly by.
When once the young heart of a maiden is stolen, / The maiden herself will steal after it soon.
Who has not felt how sadly sweet / The dream of home, the dream of home, / Steals o’er the heart, too soon to fleet, / When far o’er sea or land we roam? / Sunlight more soft may o’er us fall. / To greener shores our bark may come; / But far more bright, more dear than all, / That dream of home, that dream of home.