A weed is but an unloved flower.

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;Weep, and you weep alone;For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,But has trouble enough of its own.

We flatter those we scarcely know,We please the fleeting guest;And deal full many a thoughtless blow,To those who love us best.

We two make banquets of the plainest fareIn every cup we find the thrill of pleasure... For us life always moves with lilting measureWe two, we two, we make our world, our pleasure

A poor original is better than a good imitation.

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;Weep, and you weep alone;For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,But has trouble enough of its own.Sing, and the hills will answer;Sigh, it is lost on the air;The echoes bound to a joyful sound,But shrink from voicing care.Rejoice, and men will seek you;Grieve, and they turn and go;They want full measure of all your pleasure,But they do not need your woe.Be glad, and your friends are many;Be sad, and you lose them all,—There are none to decline your nectared wine,But alone you must drink life’s gall.Feast, and your halls are crowded;Fast, and the world goes by.Succeed and give, and it helps you live,But no man can help you die.There is room in the halls of pleasureFor a large and lordly train,But one by one we must all file onThrough the narrow aisles of pain.

The truest greatness lies in being kind, the truest wisdom in a happy mind.

Always continue the climb. It is possible for you to do whatever you choose, if you first get to know who you are and are willing to work with a power that is greater than ourselves to do it.

Feast, and your halls are crowdedFast, and the world goes bySucceed and give, and it helps you liveBut no man can help you die

It is easy to tell the toiler How best he can carry his packBut no one can rate a burden's weightUntil it has been on his back

Advice"I must do as you do? Your way I ownIs a very good way, and still,There are sometimes two straight roads to a town,One over, one under the hill.You are treading the safe and the well-worn way,That the prudent choose each time;And you think me reckless and rash to-dayBecause I prefer to climb.Your path is the right one, and so is mine.We are not like peas in a pod,Compelled to lie in a certain line,Or else be scattered abroad.'T were a dull old world, methinks, my friend,If we all just went one way;Yet our paths will meet no doubt at the end,Though they lead apart today.You like the shade, and I like the sun;You like an even pace,I like to mix with the crowd and run,And then rest after the race.I like danger, and storm, and strife,You like a peaceful time;I like the passion and surge of life,You like its gentle rhyme.You like buttercups, dewy sweet,And crocuses, framed in snow;I like roses, born of the heat,And the red carnation's glow.I must live my life, not yours, my friend,For so it was written down;We must follow our given paths to the end,But I trust we shall meet--in town.

After the fierce midsummer all ablaze Has burned itself to ashes, and expires In the intensity of its own fires,There come the mellow, mild, St. Martin daysCrowned with the calm of peace, but sad with haze. So after Love has led us, till he tires Of his own throes, and torments, and desires,Comes large-eyed friendship: with a restful gaze,He beckons us to follow, and across Cool verdant vales we wander free from care. Is it a touch of frost lies in the air?Why are we haunted with a sense of loss?We do not wish the pain back, or the heat;And yet, and yet, these days are incomplete

Love much. Earth has enough of bitter in it.

All Mad"'He is mad as a hare, poor fellow, And should be in chains,' you say,I haven't a doubt of your statement, But who isn't mad, I pray?Why, the world is a great asylum, And the people are all insane,Gone daft with pleasure or folly, Or crazed with passion and pain.The infant who shrieks at a shadow, The child with his Santa Claus faith,The woman who worships Dame Fashion, Each man with his notions of death,The miser who hoards up his earnings, The spendthrift who wastes them too soon,The scholar grown blind in his delving, The lover who stares at the moon.The poet who thinks life a paean, The cynic who thinks it a fraud,The youth who goes seeking for pleasure, The preacher who dares talk of God,All priests with their creeds and their croaking, All doubters who dare to deny,The gay who find aught to wake laughter, The sad who find aught worth a sigh,Whoever is downcast or solemn, Whoever is gleeful and gay,Are only the dupes of delusions— We are all of us—all of us mad.

To sin by silence, when they should protest, makes cowards of men.

In time the earth will be inhabited by almost god-like beings who shall analyze and discuss the remnants of humanity as we now discuss the chimpanzee.

After the fierce midsummer all ablaze Has burned itself to ashes, and expires In the intensity of its own fires,There come the mellow, mild, St. Martin daysCrowned with the calm of peace, but sad with haze. So after Love has led us, till he tires Of his own throes, and torments, and desires,Comes large-eyed friendship: with a restful gaze,He beckons us to follow, and across Cool verdant vales we wander free from care. Is it a touch of frost lies in the air?Why are we haunted with a sense of loss?We do not wish the pain back, or the heat;And yet, and yet, these days are incomplete.

I love your lips when they're wet with wine and red with wicked desire

Why, even Death stands still and waits an hour for such a will.

Moon and SeaYou are the moon, dear love, and I the sea:The tide of hope swells high within my breast,And hides the rough dark rocks of life's unrestWhen your fond eyes smile near in perigee.But when that loving face is turned from me,Low falls the tide, and the grim rocks appear,And earth's dim coast-line seems a thing to fear.You are the moon, dear one, and I the sea.

UselessnessLet mine not be the saddest fate of all, To live beyond my greater self; to see My faculties decaying, as the tree Stands stark and helpless while its green leaves fall Let me hear rather the imperious call, Which all men dread, in my glad morning time, And follow death ere I have reached my prime, Or drunk the strengthening cordial of life's gall. The lightning's stroke or the fierce tempest blast Which fells the green tree to the earth to-day Is kinder than the calm that lets it last, Unhappy witness of its own decay. May no man ever look on me and say, 'She lives, but all her usefulness is past.

Whatever is-is best.

Change is the watchword of progression. When we tire of well-worn ways we seek for new. This restless craving in the souls of men spurs them to climb and to seek the mountain view.

No question is ever settled until it is settled right.

All love that has not friendship for its base is like a mansion built upon the sand.

All love that has not friendship for its base is like a mansion built upon the sand.

All love that has not friendship for its base Is like a mansion built upon the sand.

We flatter those we scarcely know We please the fleeting guest And deal full many a thoughtless blow To those who love us best.

Laugh and the world laughs with you weep and you weep alone.

Talk happiness. The world is sad enough without your woe. No path is wholly rough.

Love lights more fires than hate extinguishes And men grow better as the world grows old.

Talk happiness. The world is sad enough without your woe. No path is wholly rough.

With every deed you are sowing a seed though the harvest you may not see.

Laugh and the world laughs with you Weep and you weep alone For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth But has trouble enough of its own.

Day's sweetest moments are at dawn.

The two kinds of people on earth that I mean Are the people who lift and the people who lean.

It is easy enough to be pleasant when life flows by like a song. But the man worthwhile is one who will smile when everything goes dead wrong.

Though smooth be the heartless prayer no ear in heaven will mind it And the finest phrase falls dead if there is no feeling behind it.

And from the discontent of man The world's best progress springs.

Like the winds of the sea are the ways of fate As the voyage along thru life 'Tis the will of the soul That decides its goal And not the calm or the strife.

There is no balking genius. Only death can silence it or hinder.

'Tis easy enough to be pleasant When life flows along like a song But the man worth while is the one who will smile When everything goes dead wrong.