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Unto us all our days are love's anniversaries, each one In turn hath ripen'd something of our happiness.

True Love is but a humble, lowborn thing, And hath its food served up in earthen ware; It is a thing to walk with, hand in hand, Through the every-dayness of this work-day world.
The Silver Wedding! on some pensive ear From towers remote as sound the silvery bells, To-day from one far unforgotten year A silvery faint memorial music swells. And silver-pale the dim memorial light Of musing age on youthful joys is shed, The golden joys of fancy's dawning bright, The golden bliss of, Woo'd, and won, and wed.
I have now been married ten years. . . . I am my husband's life as fully as he is mine. . . . To talk to each other is but a more animated and an audible thinking.
The noble lady's condition on these delightful occasions was one compounded of heroic endurance and heroic forgiveness. Lurid indications of the better marriages she might have made, shone athwart the awful gloom of her composure, and fitfully revealed the cherub as a little monster unaccountably favoured by Heaven, who had possessed himself of a blessing for which many of his superiors had sued and contended in vain. So firmly had this his position towards his treasure become established, that when the anniversary arrived, it always found him in an apologetic state.
The Master said, "Do not worry because you have no official position. Worry about your qualifications. Do not worry because no one appreciates your abilities. Seek to be worthy of appreciation."
Winning promotion through Pull is a thing we all hate--in other people. Co-workers dislike the beneficiary of Pull (The Pullee) and usually express that dislike in comments on his incompetence.
Most managements complain about the lack of able people and go outside to fill key positions. Nonsense. Nobody inside an organization ever looked ready to move into a bigger job. I use the rule of 50 percent. Try to find somebody inside the company with a record of success (in any area) and with an appetite for the job. If he looks like 50 per cent of what you need, give him the job. In six months he'll have grown the other 50 per cent and everybody will be satisfied.
People used to think at 45: How do I prepare myself for the next promotion? Now they have to think: How do I prepare myself to make another start if/when I'm pitched over the side? Companies today treat employees as disposable resources.
Let not the fear of bad offspring deter you from having children; you must do your duty and God will do what pleases Him.
A man without children is like a piece of wood, which though kindled does not burn or give out light.
Families, when a child is born Want it to be intelligent. I, through intelligence, Having wrecked my whole life, Only hope that the baby will prove Ignorant and stupid. Then he will crown a tranquil life By becoming a Cabinet Minister.
Children sweeten labours, but they make misfortunes more bitter; they increase the cares of life, but they mitigate the remembrance of death.
He that hath children, all his morsels are not his owne.
Infants manners are moulded more by the example of Parents, then by stars at their nativities.
You may love your children without living in the Nursery, and you may have a competent and discreet care of them, without letting it break out upon the company . . .
The Desire of having Children is as much the Effect of Vanity as of Good-nature. We think our Children a Part of ourselves, though as they grow up they might very well undeceive us.
As marriage produces children, so children produce care and disputes; and wrangling, as is said (at least by old bachelors and old maids), is one of the sweets of the conjugal state.
The parent who sedulously endeavours to form the heart and enlarge the understanding of his child, has given that dignity to the discharge of a duty, common to the whole animal world, that only reason can give. This is the parental affection of humanity, and leaves instinctive natural affection far behind. Such a parent acquires all the rights of the most sacred friendship, and his advice, even when his child is advanced in life, demands serious consideration.
O dearest, dearest boy! my heart For better lore would seldom yearn, Could I but teach the hundredth part Of what from thee I learn.
Our notion of the perfect society embraces the family as its centre and ornament. Nor is there a paradise planted till the children appear in the foreground to animate and complete the picture. Without these, the world were a solitude, houses desolate, hearts nameless; there are neither perspectives, nor prospects; ourselves are not ourselves, nor were there a future for us.
Respect the child. Wait and see the new product of Nature. Nature loves analogies, but not repetitions. Respect the child. Be not too much his parent. Trespass not on his solitude.
When the mother's passionate welcome, Sorrow-like, bursts forth in tears, And a sire's self-gratulation Prophesies of future years--It is well we cannot see What the end shall be.
Family likeness has often a deep sadness in it. Nature, that great tragic dramatist, knits us together by bone and muscle, and divides us by the subtler web of our brains; blends yearning and repulsion; and ties us by our heartstrings to the beings that jar us at every movement.
If you would have your son to walk honorably through the world, you must not attempt to clear the stones from his path, but teach him to walk firmly over them--not insist upon leading him by the hand, but let him learn to go alone.
Only a tender flower Sent us to rear; Only a life to love While we are here; Only a baby small, Never at rest; Small, but how dear to us, God knoweth best.
. . . be aught you please, let all fulfil All your pleasure; be your world your toy; Mild or wild we love you, loud or still, Child or boy.
What does it matter, when you come to think of it, whether a child is yours by blood or not? All the little ones of our time are collectively the children of us adults of the time, and entitled to our general care. That excessive regard of parents for their own children, and their dislike of other people's, is, like class-feeling, patriotism, save-your-own soul-ism and other virtues, a mean exclusiveness at bottom.
BABE or BABY, n. A misshapen creature of no particular age, sex, or condition, chiefly remarkable for the violence of the sympathies and antipathies it excites in others, itself without sentiment or emotion.
Can you think of any service constituting a stronger claim on the nation's gratitude than bearing and nursing the nation's children? According to our view, none deserve so well of the world as good parents. There is no task so unselfish, so necessarily without return, though the heart is well rewarded, as the nurture of the children who are to make the world for one another when we are gone.
Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.
It's a strange thing, . . . but you can't love a man till you've had a baby by him. . . . If a woman's got a baby and a husband she's got the best things the Lord can give her.
They are a great deal of trouble, and they make a place untidy, and they cost a lot of money to keep; but still we would not have the house without them. It would not be home without their noisy tongues and their mischief-making hands. Would not the rooms seem silent without their pattering feet, and might not you stay apart if no prattling voices called you together?
Just when they sit down to enjoy in peace their evening meal of existence, the tables of most parents are pounced upon as by harpies, and pillaged by their children.
The parents exist to teach the child, but they must learn what the child has to teach them; and the child has a very great deal to teach them. Chiefly the child has to teach them imagination, which is the source of justice and the foe of cruelty, conscious or unconscious.
God, you have given me a boy: Now help me still my boy to rear; Too kind to quarrel, brave to fear, Too good for any sinful joy, Or, if temptation prove too strong, Too wise to follow folly long.
One of the most fascinating preoccupations when one has a child of one's own is watching for the appearance of hereditary traits and predispositions that can be attributed to--or blamed upon--one side of the family or the other. . . . The traits in which one takes pride and the traits of the other parent whom one loves are doubly endearing in the shared child.
Everybody who has a baby thinks everybody who hasn't a baby ought to have a baby.
Trust yourself. You know more than you think you do.
Loving a baby or child is a circular business, a kind of feedback loop. The more you give, the more you get, and the more you get, the more you feel like giving.
Children do not need superhuman, perfect parents. They have always managed with good enough parents: the parents they happened to have.
Getting advice on the best way to bring up children is like getting advice on the best way to breathe; sooner or later, you're probably going to forget it and go back to your regular old in-and-out.
[From a list of pros and cons for "prospective parents"] [Pro:] Children ask better questions than do adults. "May I have a cookie?" "Why is the sky blue?" and "What does a cow say?" are far more likely to elicit a cheerful response than "Where's your manuscript?" "Why haven't you called?" and "Who's your lawyer?" [Con:] Notoriously insensitive to subtle shifts in mood, children will persist in discussing the color of a recently sighted cement mixer long after one's own interest in the topic has waned.
Babys i luv with all mi heart; they are mi sweetmeats, they warm up mi blood like a gin sling, they krawl into me and nestle by the side ov mi soul, like a kitten under a cook stove. . . . I have got grandchildren, and they are wuss than the first krop tew riot amung the feelings.
As grandparents, elders can contribute to the grandchildren's guidance and maintenance without being responsible for them. As grandparents, they can love, care for, and be helpful to the grandchildren--all without bearing the responsibility inherent in parental generativity. This freedom from middle age's responsibility for maintaining and perpetuating the world is central to the grand-generativity that characterizes old-age caring.
Because they are usually free to love and guide and befriend the young without having to take daily responsibility for them, they can often reach out past pride and fear of failure and close the space between generations.
The leaving a neighbourhood in which we had enjoyed so many hours of tranquility was not without a tear, which scarce fortitude itself could suppress.
These annual migrations from farm to farm were on the increase. . . . With the younger families it was a pleasant excitement which might possibly be an advantage. The Egypt of one family was the Land of Promise to the family who saw it from a distance, till by residence there it became in turn their Egypt also; and so they changed and changed.
"I understand that inside of the Pearly Gates, each Family has Permanent Quarters. There are no Folding Beds to juggle down Back Stairways, no Picture Cords to shorten, no Curtain Poles to saw off, no Book Cases to get jammed in Stairways. I am sure there will be no Piano Movers, for I have heard their Language. Do you think you can be happy in the Promised Land?" "It will depend entirely on whether or not the Rugs fit."
O dear little cabin, I've loved you so long, And now I must bid you good-bye! I've filled you with laughter, I've thrilled you with song And sometimes I've wished I could cry. Your walls they have witnessed a weariful fight, And rung to a won Waterloo: But oh, in my triumph I'm dreary to-night--Good-bye, little cabin, to you!
In the little houses the tenant people sifted their belongings and the belongings of their fathers and of their grandfathers. Picked over their possessions for the journey to the west. The men were ruthless because the past had been spoiled, but the women knew how the past would cry to them in the coming days.
Without my twenty to forty years of clutter, the lightness I feel here in this new home is good. Come to think of it, this move liberated me. It refreshed and energized me somehow, knowing I had to make new friends here, start new projects, plant my roots anew in journalist, political, feminist, and writers' groups (the interests of my past)--even try something truly new for me.
Ah, I like the look of packing crates! A household in preparation for a journey! . . . Something full of the flow of life. . . . Movement, progress.
The smell of fresh paint barely overlaid a fainter, more pungent odor, the accumulated fear and loneliness and terrified excitement of those who had lived here before me.
True and false fears let us refrain; Let us love nobly, and live, and add again Years and years unto years, till we attain To write threescore; this is the second of our reign.
If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were loved by wife, then thee; If ever wife was happy in a man, Compare with me, ye women, if you can. I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
Frequent visits, presents, intimate correspondence, and intermarriages within allowed bounds, are means of keeping up the concern and affection that nature requires from relations.
Marriage is the beginning and the end of all culture. It makes the savage mild; and the most cultivated has no better opportunity for displaying his gentleness. Indissoluble it must be, because it brings so much happiness that what small exceptional unhappiness it may bring counts for nothing in the balance.
Dear Ellen, many a golden year May ripe, then dim, thy beauty's bloom But never shall the hour appear In sunny joy, in sorrow's gloom, When aught shall hinder me from telling My ardent love, all loves excelling.
Ah, Lucy, life has swiftly sped From April to November; The summer blossoms all are shed That you and I remember; But while the vanished years we share With mingling recollections, How all their shadowy features wear The hue of old affections!
Do you know many wives . . . who respect and admire their husbands? And yet they and their husbands get on very well. How many brides go to the altar with hearts that would bear inspection by the men who take them there? And yet it doesn't end unhappily--somehow or other the nuptial establishment jogs on. The truth is, that women try marriage as a Refuge, far more numerously than they are willing to admit; and, what is more, they find that marriage has justified their confidence in it.
Small is the trust when love is green In sap of early years; A little thing steps in between And kisses turn to tears. A while--and see how love be grown In loveliness and power! A while, it loves the sweets alone, But next it loves the sour.
You've lived with me these fifty years, And all the time you loved me dearly: I may have given you cause for tears: I may have acted rather queerly. I ceased to love you long ago: I loved another for a season: As time went on I came to know Your worth, my wife. . . .
Sometimes, I recollect, those twenty years with her had seemed long; but that was because, firstly, twenty years were long, and secondly because we are none of us perfect, and thirdly, because a wife, unless she is careful, is apt to get on one's nerves.
Husbands are things that wives have to get used to putting up with, And with whom they breakfast with and sup with. They interfere with the discipline of nurseries, And forget anniversaries.
For you wake one day, Look around and say Somebody wonderful Married me.
That we arrived at fifty years together is due as much to luck as to love, and a talent for knowing, when we stumble, where to fall, and how to get up again.
A husband has many, many ways of making a wife feel loved, but he almost never does it with champagne and roses. . . . I will happily settle for love in its many oblique and unglamorous manifestations, for "I love you" can be translated into his willingness to lace my ski boots, and to listen to my discussion of infant diarrhea.
When I was . . . little, my mother once told me that if a married couple puts a penny in a pot for every time they make love in the first year, and takes a penny out every time after that, they'll never get all the pennies out of the pot.
For the hands that cannot clasp thee, For the voices that are dumb, For each and all I bid thee A grateful welcome home!
To that dear home beyond the sea, My Kathleen shall again return, And when thy old friends welcome thee, Thy loving heart will cease to yearn.
Some human roles are so fixed that it is too great a strain to act them in any but the accepted manner. Fathers ought to be tyrannical, and sons ungrateful; grandmothers must demoralize their children's children, and mothers-in-law make all the mischief they can.
Home agin, an' home to stay--Yes, it's nice to be away. Plenty things to do an' see, But the old place seems to me Jest about the proper thing. Mebbe 'ts 'cause the mem'ries cling Closer 'round yore place o' birth N ary other spot on earth.
People feel better when they gather together for the sake of love and fellowship. Their hearts are cleansed and kindled by the warm fire of eternal goodness.
We're all gonna be here forever So Mama don't you make such a stir Just put down that camera And come on and join up The last of the family reserve.
I,--the man of middle years, In whose sable locks appears Many a warning fleck of gray,--Looking back to that far day, And thy primal lessons, feel Grateful smiles my lips unseal, As, remembering thee, I blend Olden teacher, present friend.
We are older: our footsteps, so light in the play Of the far-away school-time, move slower to-day;--Here a beard touched with frost, there a bald, shining crown, And beneath the cap's border gray mingles with brown. But faith should be cheerful, and trust should be glad, And our follies and sins, not our years, make us sad.
To-day our Reverend Mother welcomes back Her wisest Scholars, those who understood The deeper teaching of her mystic tome, And offered their fresh lives to make it good.
It takes some time to accept and realize that fact that while you have been growing old, your friends have not been standing still, in that matter.
Whether we like it, or don't There's a sort of bond in the fact That we all by one master were taught, By one master were bullied and whackt. And now all the more when we see Our class in so shrunken a state And we, who were seventy-two, Diminished to seven or eight.
Is this the great campus that I remember so well from my freshman days? What was it? Half a mile long, I think, and broader even than its length. That football goal that stood some fifty or sixty feet in the air, has it shrunk to these poor sticks? These simple trees, can they be the great elms that reared themselves up to the autumn sky? And was the Tower no higher than this?
We'll love her as we loved the dear old school or very very near it, For tho' she's thrown the dress away, she's kept the same old spirit; And of her present boys and girls we'll each prove a believer That every year she'll turn them out as good and bright as we were.
We have come back here, along with those we love, to see one another again. And by being together we shall remember that we are part of a great company, we shall remember that we are not mere individuals isolated in a tempest, but that we are members of a community--that what we have to do, we shall do together, with friends beside us.
I never go to a college reunion that I don't come away feeling sorry for all those paunchy, balding jocks trying to hang onto youth. I feel sorry for the men, too.
The class reunion, known as a splendid opportunity to check out how we're doing in comparison to our age peers, is less often acknowledged for its temporal impact--for being a stark reminder of time's relativity. Returning for a reunion, we hear the same chorus of bedeviled reactions "Can you believe it's been a quarter of a century?" "Where has the time gone!" "It seems like yesterday!" The decades since graduation have raced by like a jet stream, sucking us along and depositing us in the present before we realized what was happening. But the four years when we were in school were as leisurely as a stroll; they ambled, they meandered, they distinguished themselves one from the other . . . as if each were a separate country, and we a different person every year.
I do not deny that medicine is a gift of God, nor do I refuse to acknowledge science in the skill of many physicians; but, take the best of them, how far are they from perfection? . . . I have no objection to the doctors acting upon certain theories, but, at the same time, they must not expect us to be the slaves of their fancies.
Physicians are some of them so pleasing and conformable to the humour of the patient, as they press not the true cure of the disease; and some are so regular in proceeding according to art for the disease, as they respect not sufficiently the condition of the patient. Take one of a middle temper; or if it may not be found in one man, combine two of either sort; and forget not to call, as well the best acquainted with your body, as the best reputed of for his faculty.
I hired me a little shop, . . . took small gain, kept no debt-book, garnished my shop, for want of plate, with good wholesome thrifty sentences, as "Touchstone, keep thy shop, and thy shop will keep thee." "Light gains make heavy purses."
Those that never were in business have reason to avoid it, because they do not know it. Those that have been in it, have at least as much reason to dislike it, because they do know it.
A vigorous beginning at business carries it very near the end. A wavering at the first setting out invites and calls for a misfortune.
Whatever business you have, do it the first moment you can; never by halves, but finish it without interruption, if possible. Business must not be sauntered and trifled with.
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft agley.
I draw a plan and work out every detail on the plan before starting to build. For otherwise one will waste a great deal of time in makeshifts as the work goes on and the finished article will not have coherence. It will not be rightly proportioned. Many inventors fail because they do not distinguish between planning and experimenting.
This is the strategy of "creative imitation." It waits until somebody else has established the new, but only "approximately." Then it goes to work. And within a short time it comes out with what the new really should be to satisfy the customer, to do the work customers want and pay for. The creative imitation has then set the standard and takes over the market.
Start with good people, lay out the rules, communicate with your employees, motivate them, and reward them if they perform. If you do all those things effectively, you can't miss.
The debit side of the balance sheet reflects incredibly hard work and self-sacrifice--with very little material return for the investment in the first few years. The credit side? It will be whatever you make it.
People say it takes so much courage to become an entrepreneur. I think it takes far more courage to work for somebody else, to get up each morning and go to work and not have something in your control.
In games, many times there are prizes for effort. You can get second prize or third prize, and that is not bad at all. However, as in a battle, in the small business game it is winner take all. No reward for effort, no second prize. You try and you win or you lose. Please know this before you jump in. It is sink or swim.
YOUR OWN BUSINESS Start small and grow big. Start big and go broke.
Most aspiring entrepreneurs believe that the key to success lies in developing an innovative and exciting product. After all, remember Emerson's adage "Build a better mousetrap, and the world will beat a path to your door." I'm here to tell you that if you believe in that adage, then you are doomed to failure. . . . The truth is, it's far better to aggressively market a mediocre mousetrap than to build a superior trap and wait for the phones to ring.
Benjamin Franklin discovered electricity, but the man who developed the electric meter made a lot more money from it.
. . . this cheek and brow, Whose paleness, burne'd in with heats of thought, Would make an angel smile to see how ill Clay thrust from Paradise consorts with mind-
Cramming seeks to stamp things in by intense application immediately before the ordeal. But a thing thus learned can form but few associations. On the other hand, the same thing recurring on different days, in different contexts, read, recited on, referred to again and again, related to other things and reviewed, gets well wrought into the mental structure. This is the reason why you should enforce on your pupils habits of continuous application.
A student must be of low caliber indeed if, with printed text and written notes before him covering the entire work of the term, he cannot cram enough facts into his head and keep them there long enough to get past the examination. When he has done this, so far as his present state of mind is concerned, he seems to be through with those facts--finished; he is never going to want them again, or worry about them. The habit of forgetting, the habit of not even taking things into his consciousness except under certain extraordinary conditions, is a vicious and subtle one he is not able to shake off.
With song elate we celebrate The struggling Student wight, Who seeketh still to pack his pate With treasures erudite.
People are afraid of war and wounds and dentists, all with excellent reason; but these are not to be compared with such chaotic terrors of the mind as fell on this young man, and made him cover his eyes from the innocent morning.
To those who know, a written examination is far from being a true criterion of capacity. It demands too much of mere memory, imitativeness, and the insidious willingness to absorb other people's ideas. Parrots and crows would do admirably in examinations. Indeed, the colleges are full of them.
After these years of lectures heard, Of papers read, of hopes deferred, Of days spent in the dark stacks In learning the impervious facts So well you can dispose with them, Now that the final day has come When you shall answer name and dates Where fool and scholar judge your fate What have you gained?
On students, the most immediate effect of testing is anxiety. Most families have their characteristic exam-time symptoms. The household rhythms change. Girls' parents resign themselves to the overeating or under-nourishment, the sleepiness or insomnia, the amenorrhea, the fitful tears, the furious rejection of help. Boys' parents brace themselves for the lunatic sensitivity to noise, the ritually elaborate apparatus of study, the vocabulary of grunts and snarls, the midnight carbohydrates and the shuddering refusal of breakfast.
Love me little, love me long! Is the burden of my song: Love that is too hot and strong Burneth soon to waste. Still I would not have thee cold--Not too backward, nor too bold; Love that lasteth till 't is old Fadeth not in haste.
Many are of the opinion that the vertues of love are very many, and that it is of force to reduce us from savageness to civilnesse, from folly to wit, from covetousnesse to liberalitie, from clownishnesse to courtlinesse, yea from all vice to all vertue. But if the effects therof bee rightly considered, I see not but that wee may more justly say, that the inconveniences of love bee infinite, and that it bringeth us from modesty to impudencie, from learnynge to lewdnesse, from stayed firmnes to staggering fickelnesse, from liberalitie to prodigalitie, from warinesse to wilfulnesse, from good beehaviour to dissolute livinge, from reason to rage, yea, from all goodnesse to all vanitie . . .
It lies not in our power to love or hate, For will in us is overrul'd by fate. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Where both deliberate, the love is slight; Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?
Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.
One half of me is yours, the other half yours--Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.
It is to be all made of fantasy, All made of passion, and all made of wishes, All adoration, duty, and observance, All humbleness, all patience and impatience, All purity, all trial, all observance.
I am giddy; expectation whirls me round. Th' imaginary relish is so sweet That it enchants my sense. What will it be, When that the wat'ry palates taste indeed Love's thrice repured nectar? Death, I fear me, Swooning destruction, or some joy too fine, Too subtle, potent, tun'd too sharp in sweetness For the capacity of my ruder powers I fear it much; and I do fear besides That I shall lose distinction in my joys, As doth a battle when they charge on heaps The enemy flying.
She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd, And I lov'd her that she did pity them.
I brought a heart into the room, But from the room I carried none with me: If it had gone to thee, I know Mine would have taught thine heart to show More pity unto me; but Love, alas, At one first blow did shiver it as glass.
Adieu to Liberty! adieu to Fame! For other gifts, for softer joys I pine; In one fair breast I wish a mutual flame, In one fair breast alone to burn with mine.
When you lov'd me, and I lov'd you, Then both of us were born anew.
There's a feast undated, yet Both our true lives hold it fast,--Even the day when first we met. What a great day came and passed,--Unknown then but known at last.
"Love at first sight," some say, misnaming Discovery of twinned helplessness Against the huge tug of procreation.
Don't worry about losing. If it is right, it happens--The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.
Got heartburn, palpitation, indigestion, anorexia, psychasthenia, euphoria and delusions of grandeur. Hallucinations by day and insomnia by night. Got misery and ecstasy.
I think spring is inside me. I feel spring awakening, I feel it in my entire body and soul. I have to force myself to act normally. I'm in a state of utter confusion, don't know what to read, what to write, what to do. I only know that I'm longing for something.
And wilt thou leave me thus, That hath loved thee so long In wealth and woe among: And is thy heart so strong As for to leave me thus?
Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part; Nay, I have done, you get no more of me, And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart That thus so cleanly I myself can free.
Now thou hast loved me one whole day, Tomorrow when thou leav'st, what wilt thou say? Wilt thou then antedate some new-made vow? Or say that now We are not just those persons which we were?
I prethee, send me back my heart, Since I cannot have thine; For if from yours you will not part, Why then should you keep mine?
'Tis not that I am weary grown Of being yours, and yours alone; But with what face can I incline To damn you to be only mine?
Let the love die. Are there not other loves As beautiful and full of sweet unrest, Flying through space like snowy-pinioned doves?
What shall I give you, my lord, my lover? The gift that breaks the heart in me: I bid you awake at dawn and discover I have gone my way and left you free.
Don't try to patch it up, Tear it up, tear it up! Wash him out, Dry him out, Push him out, fly him out, Cancel him and let him go!
The sleepless nights, The daily fights, The quick toboggan when you reach the heights--I miss the kisses and I miss the bites I wish I were in love again.
I am no good at love I betray it with little sins For I feel the misery of the end In the moment that it begins And the bitterness of the last goodbye Is the bitterness that wins.
I bet you're wonderin' how I knew 'bout your plans to make me blue with some other guy you knew before between the two of us guys you know I loved you more . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I heard it through the grapevine Not much longer would you be mine.
I'd like to help you in your struggle to be free There must be fifty ways to leave your lover.
We will have rings and things, and fine array; And kiss me, Kate, we will be married a' Sunday.
Don Pedro: Will you have me, lady? Beatrice : No, my lord, unless I might have another for working days. Your grace is too costly to wear every day.
Dear Isabel, I have a motion much imports your good, Whereto if you'll a willing ear incline, What's mine is yours and what is yours is mine.
I am your wife, if you will marry me; If not, I'll die your maid, To be your fellow You may deny me, but I'll be your servant, Whether you will or no.
Allow me, then, Mademoiselle, to place today on the altar of your charms, the offering of my heart, which aspires to and strives after no other glory than for the rest of its life to be, Mademoiselle your very humble, very obedient and very faithful servant and husband.
My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) to set the example of matrimony in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced it will add very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly--which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness.
Let men tremble to win the hand of woman, unless they win along with it the utmost passion of her heart!
You will be surprised that he proposed seven times once in a hackney-coach once in a boat once in a pew once on a donkey at Tunbridge Wells and the rest on his knees.
You could draw me to fire, you could draw me to water, you could draw me to the gallows, you could draw me to any death, you could draw me to anything I have most avoided, you could draw me to any exposure and disgrace. This and the confusion of my thoughts, so that I am fit for nothing, is what I mean by your being the ruin of me. But if you would return a favourable answer to my offer of marriage, you could draw me to any good--every good--with equal force.
You are lonely; I love you; I want you to consent to be my wife; I will wait, but I want you to promise that you will marry me--no one else.
And at home by the fire, whenever you look up, there I shall be--and whenever I look up, there will be you.
My later courtship was carried on by telegraph. I taught the lady of my heart the Morse code, and when she could both send and receive we got along much better than we could have with spoken words by tapping our remarks to one another on our hands. Presently I asked her thus, in Morse code, if she would marry me. The word "Yes" is an easy one to send by telegraphic signals, and she sent it. If she had been obliged to speak it she might have found it harder.

But wait... my book has more:

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