Related Quotes
nature giving natural
Nature gives to every time and season some beauties of its own. Charles Dickens
nature humility pride
We cannot think too highly of our nature, nor too humbly of ourselves. Charles Caleb Colton
nature men self
If Natur has gifted a man with powers of argeyment, a man has a right to make the best of 'em, and has not a right to stand on false delicacy, and deny that he is so gifted; for that is a turning of his back on Natur, a flouting of her, a slighting of her precious caskets, and a proving of one's self to be a swine that isn't worth her scattering pearls before. Charles Dickens
nature moon shining
When the moon shines very brilliantly, a solitude and stillness seem to proceed from her that influence even crowded places full of life. Charles Dickens
nature dark moon
The earth covered with a sable pall as for the burial of yesterday; the clumps of dark trees, its giant plumes of funeral feathers, waving sadly to and fro: all hushed, all noiseless, and in deep repose, save the swift clouds that skim across the moon, and the cautious wind, as, creeping after them upon the ground, it stops to listen, and goes rustling on, and stops again, and follows, like a savage on the trail. Charles Dickens
nature wall dark
A moment, and its glory was no more. The sun went down beneath the long dark lines of hill and cloud which piled up in the west an airy city, wall heaped on wall, and battlement on battlement; the light was all withdrawn; the shining church turned cold and dark; the stream forgot to smile; the birds were silent; and the gloom of winter dwelt on everything. Charles Dickens
nature morning fall
It was a cold hard easterly morning when he latched the garden gate and turned away. The light snowfall which had feathered his schoolroom windows on the Thursday, still lingered in the air, and was falling white, while the wind blew black. Charles Dickens
nature dark winter
The white face of the winter day came sluggishly on, veiled in a frosty mist; and the shadowy ships in the river slowly changed to black substances; and the sun, blood-red on the eastern marshes behind dark masts and yards, seemed filled with the ruins of a forest it had set on fire. Charles Dickens
nature wall rain
Not only is the day waning, but the year. The low sun is fiery and yet cold behind the monastery ruin, and the Virginia creeper on the Cathedral wall has showered half its deep-red leaves down on the pavement. There has been rain this afternoon, and a wintry shudder goes among the little pools on the cracked, uneven flag-stones, and through the giant elm-trees as they shed a gust of tears. Charles Dickens
writing hair fire
Prowling about the rooms, sitting down, getting up, stirring the fire, looking out the window, teasing my hair, sitting down to write, writing nothing, writing something and tearing it up... Charles Dickens
writing numbers gold
Genius, in one respect, is like gold; numbers of persons are constantly writing about both, who have neither. Charles Caleb Colton
writing language nonsense
It is curious that some learned dunces, because they can write nonsense in languages that are dead, should despise those that talk sense in languages that are living. Charles Caleb Colton
writing men profound
He that knows himself, knows others; and he that is ignorant of himself, could not write a very profound lecture on other men's heads. Charles Caleb Colton
writing faces privacy
The society of dead authors has this advantage over that of the living: they never flatter us to our faces, nor slander us behind our backs, nor intrude upon our privacy, nor quit their shelves until we take them down. Charles Caleb Colton
writing men three
There are three difficulties in authorship: to write anything worth publishing, to find honest men to publish it, and to find sensible men to read it. Charles Caleb Colton
writing should-have fire
We should have a glorious conflagration, if all who cannot put fire into their works would only consent to put their works into the fire. Charles Caleb Colton
writing self hints
The awkwardness and embarrassment which all feel on beginning to write, when they themselves are the theme, ought to serve as a hint to author's that self is a subject they ought very rarely to descant upon. Charles Caleb Colton
writing two style
When I meet with any persons who write obscurely or converse confusedly, I am apt to suspect two things; first, that such persons do not understand themselves; and secondly, that they are not worthy of being understood by others. Charles Caleb Colton
butterfly childhood way
Marya pinned out her childhood like a butterfly. She considered it the way a mathematician considers an equation. Catherynne M. Valente
butterfly age cocoons
I am not so weak as to submit to the demands of the age when they go against my convictions. I spin a cocoon around myself; let others do the same. I shall leave it to time to show what will come of it: a brilliant butterfly or maggot. Caspar David Friedrich
butterfly kissing arms
She seemed to melt against him in her terror, and he caught her in his arms, held her fast there, felt her lashes beat his cheek like netted butterflies. Edith Wharton
butterfly long obsessed
I never really got obsessed about one thing for long. I was a bit of a butterfly and a magpie. Benedict Cumberbatch
butterfly touching paper
Let me walk through the fields of paper touching with my wand dry stems and stunted butterflies.... Denise Levertov
butterfly england stills
I still get butterflies when England are playing. Alan Shearer
butterfly bird together
I will drop into your chest like a vegetal ambrosia. I will be the grain that regenerates the cruelly plowed furrow. Poetry will be born of our intimate union. A god we shall create together, and we shall soar heavenward like sunbeams, perfumes, butterflies, birds, and all winged things. Charles Baudelaire
butterfly ideas hands
Musical ideas sprang to my mind like a flight of butterflies, and all I had to do was to stretch out my hand to catch them Charles Gounod
butterfly poor-richard gaudy
What is a butterfly? At best He's but a caterpiller drest. The gaudy Fop's his picture just. Benjamin Franklin