ābe glĪ±d of life, becĪ±use it gives you the chĪ±nce to love Ī±nd to work Ī±nd to plĪ±y Ī±nd to look up Ī±t the stĪ±rs; to be sĪ±tisfied with your posessions, to despise nothing in the world except fĪ±lsehood Ī±nd meĪ±nness Ī±nd to feĪ±r nothing except cowĪ±rdice; to be governed by your Ī±dmirĪ±tions rĪ±ther thĪ±n by your disgusts, to covet nothing thĪ±t is your neighbour's except his kindness of heĪ±rt Ī±nd gentleness of mĪ±nners; to think seldom of your enemies, often of your friends and to spend Ī±s much time Ī±s you cĪ±n with body Ī±nd with spirit.ā
āThe brave man is intelligent; he faces danger because he understands it and is prepared to meet it. The drunkard who runs, in the delirium of intoxication, into a burning house is not brave; he is only stupid. But the clear-eyed hero who makes his way, with every sense alert and every nerve strung, into the hell of flames to rescue some little child, proves his courage.ā
āMemory is a capricious and arbitrary creature. You never can tell what pebble she will pick up from the shore of life to keep among her treasures, or what inconspicuous flower of the field she will preserve as the symbol of "thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears." . . . And yet I do not doubt that the most Important things are always the best remembered.ā
āIf all the skies were sunshine Our faces would be fain To feel once more upon them The cooling splash of rain. If all the world were music, Our hearts would often long For one sweet strain of silence, To break the endless song If life were always merry, Our souls would seek relief, And rest from weary laughter In the quiet arms of grief.ā
āThe meditative angler is not exempt from sensational periods. There are times when all the uncertainty of his chosen pursuit seems to condense itself into one big chance, and stand out before him like a salmon on the top wave of a rapid. He sees his luck hangs by a single strand of gut, and he cannot tell whether it will hold or break. This is the thrilling moment and he never forgets it.ā
āThese are the things I prize And hold of dearest worth: Light of the sapphire skies, Peace of the silent hills, Shelter of the forests, comfort of the grass, Music of birds, murmur of little rills, Shadows of cloud that swiftly pass, And, after showers, The smell of flowers And of the good brown earth,- And best of all, along the way, friendship and mirth.ā
