Time is a dressmaker specializing in alterations.
I have learned over a period of time to be almost unconsciously grateful–as a child is–for a sunny day, blue water, flowers in a vase, a tree turning red. I have learned to be glad at dawn and when the sky is dark. Only children and a few spiritually evolved people are born to feel gratitude as naturally as they breathe, without even thinking. Most of us come to it step by painful step, to discover that gratitude is a form of acceptance.
I think one should forgive and remember …. If you forgive and forget in the usual sense, you’re just driving what you remember into the subconscious; it stays there and festers. But to look, even regularly, upon what you remember and know you’ve forgiven is achievement.
Autumn burned brightly, a running flame through the mountains, a torch flung to the trees.
Character builds slowly, but it can be torn down with incredible swiftness.
Sometimes there is a greater lack of communication in facile talking than in silence.
Most of us forget to take time for wonder, praise and gratitude until it is almost too late. Gratitude is a many-colored quality, reaching in all directions. It goes out for small things and for large; it is a God-ward going.
I see now how things even up, how they are squared away, and how they balance under the law of love and justice. No year of life is emotionally, spiritually or even materially, all drought or all rainfall; nor is it all sun. The road turns a little every day, and one day there’s a sudden twist we didn’t dream was there, and for every loss there is somewhere a gain, for every grief a happiness, for every deprivation a giving.
Men’s private self-worlds are rather like our geographical world’s seasons, storm, and sun, deserts, oases, mountains and abysses, the endless-seeming plateaus, darkness and light, and always the sowing and the reaping.
Gratitude is a humble emotion. It expresses itself in a thousand ways, from a sincere thank you to friend or stranger, to the mute, up-reaching acknowledgment to God–not for the gifts of this day only, but for the day itself; not for what we believe will be ours in the future, but for the bounty of the past.
I’ve always thought that the most perfect fate which could befall any woman would be to be born a rich widow.
Every generation proclaims that each must lead his own life, but seldom grants the subsequent generation the right to lead theirs.
You cannot contribute anything to the ideal condition of mind and heart known as Brotherhood, however much you preach, posture, or agree, unless you live it.
the one universal form of art is music.
We may differ widely in environments, education, learning, knowledge, or lack of it, and in our personalities, our likes and dislikes. But if we set ourselves the task, we’ll find a meeting place somehow and somewhere.
One of the dreariest spots on life’s road is the point of conviction that nothing will ever again happen to you.
Occasionally the impossible happens; this is a truism that accounts for much of what we call good luck; and also, bad.
The shadow of fear and uncertainty lies over most of us; for us the future seems far from being as clear and open as we believed it would be.
Faith is the spiritual house in which we live.
In my belief, a harvest is also a legacy, for very often what you reap is, in the way of small miracles, more than you consciously know you have sown.
Kissing tends to bring on woolgathering, even amnesia.
There’s nothing like fishing to pass the time and to incline toward a sort of magnificent stupidity in which nothing matters but tackle, bait, sunlight and the strike.