William Story Quotations

What looks like swindling with a petty sum,Is on a grand and speculative scaleHonest enough, so it be large enough.

What looks like swindling with a petty sum, Is on a grand and speculative scale Honest enough, so it be large enough.

Man is content to know that he is loved,And tires the constant phrase "I love" to hear;But woman doubts the instrument is brokeUnless she daily hear the sweet refrain.

Man is content to know that he is loved, And tires the constant phrase "I love" to hear; But woman doubts the instrument is broke Unless she daily hear the sweet refrain.

Nothing can be sour and sharpAs a love that has decayed --On the loose strings of the harpOnly discord can be made.

Nothing can be sour and sharp As a love that has decayed -- On the loose strings of the harp Only discord can be made.

On the broken stem of dreamsOnly disappointments grow.

On the broken stem of dreams Only disappointments grow.

But the gray and the cold are hauntedBy a beauty akin to pain, --By a sense of a something wanted,That never will come again.

But the gray and the cold are haunted By a beauty akin to pain, -- By a sense of a something wanted, That never will come again.

Give me the old enthusiasms back,Give me the ardent longings that I lack, --The glorious dreams that fooled me in my youth,The sweet mirage that lured me on its track. . . .

Give me the old enthusiasms back, Give me the ardent longings that I lack, -- The glorious dreams that fooled me in my youth, The sweet mirage that lured me on its track. . . .

Hate me an hour, and then turn roundAnd love me truly, just one minute.

Hate me an hour, and then turn round And love me truly, just one minute.

The rain keeps constantly raining,And the sky is cold and gray,And the wind in the trees keeps complainingThat summer has passed away; --

The rain keeps constantly raining, And the sky is cold and gray, And the wind in the trees keeps complaining That summer has passed away; --

Those black eyes I once so praisedNow are hard and sharp and cold;Where's the love that through them blazed?Where's the tenderness of old?

Those black eyes I once so praised Now are hard and sharp and cold; Where's the love that through them blazed? Where's the tenderness of old?

When, full of warm and eager love,I clasp you in my fond embrace,You gently push me back and say,"Take care, my dear, you'll spoil my lace.

When, full of warm and eager love, I clasp you in my fond embrace, You gently push me back and say, "Take care, my dear, you'll spoil my lace.

We live as much in all that we have lostAs what we own.

We live as much in all that we have lost As what we own.

I sing the hymn of the conquered, who fell in the Battle of Life,The hymn of the wounded, the beaten, who died overwhelmed in the strife.

Of every noble work the silent part is best, Of all expression that which can not be expressed.

Speak, History! Who are life's victors? Unroll thy long annals and say:Are they those whom the world calls the victors, who won the success of a day?

Speak, History! Who are life's victors? Unroll thy long annals and say: Are they those whom the world calls the victors, who won the success of a day?

Ah, yes! Success, I fear, has come too late!

Do I hate you? No! Not hate? Hate's a word far too intense, Too alive, to speak a state Of supreme indifference.

I dream of the purple gloryOf the roseate mountain-heightAnd the sweet-to-remember storyOf a distant and clear delight.

I dream of the purple glory Of the roseate mountain-height And the sweet-to-remember story Of a distant and clear delight.

The hymn of the low and the humble, the weary, the broken in heart,Who strove and who failed, acting bravely a silent and desperate part.

The hymn of the low and the humble, the weary, the broken in heart, Who strove and who failed, acting bravely a silent and desperate part.

Ah! how ugly Life can beAfter Love from it is lopped!

Ah! how ugly Life can be After Love from it is lopped!

Ah me! the vision has vanished, the music has died away!