Quotes on Sweet

The smell of profit is clean and sweet, whatever the source.

What is all this juice and all this joy?_x000D_ _x000D_ A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning_x000D_ _x000D_ In Eden garden.-Have, get, before it cloy,_x000D_ _x000D_ Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,_x000D_ _x000D_ Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,_x000D_ _x000D_ Most, O maid's child, thy choice and worthy the winning.

Sweet love, sweet thorn, when lightly to my heart. I took your thrust, whereby I since am slain, And I lie disheveled in the grass apart, A sodden thing bedrenched by tears and rain.

In sweet water there is a pleasure ungrudged by anyone.

I that have love and no more_x000D_ _x000D_ Give you but love of you, sweet;_x000D_ _x000D_ He that hath more, let him give;_x000D_ _x000D_ He that hath wings, let him soar;_x000D_ _x000D_ Mine is the heart at your feet_x000D_ _x000D_ Here, that must love you to live.

He who has fostered the sweet poison of love by fondling it, finds it too late to refuse the yoke which he has of his own accord assumed.

Trust thou thy Love: if she be proud, is she not sweet?_x000D_ _x000D_ Trust thou thy love: if she be mute, is she not pure?_x000D_ _x000D_ Lay thou thy soul full in her hands, low at her feet-_x000D_ _x000D_ Fail, Sun and Breath!-yet, for thy peace, she shall endure.

The golden hours on angel wings_x000D_ _x000D_ Flew o'er me and my dearie,_x000D_ _x000D_ For dear to me as light and life_x000D_ _x000D_ Was my sweet Highland Mary.

She is coming, my own, my sweet;_x000D_ _x000D_ Were it ever so airy a tread,_x000D_ _x000D_ My heart would hear her and beat,_x000D_ _x000D_ Were it earth in an earthly bed;_x000D_ _x000D_ My dust would hear her and beat,_x000D_ _x000D_ Had I lain for a century dead;_x000D_ _x000D_ Would start and tremble under her feet,_x000D_ _x000D_ And blossom in purple and red.

So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud,_x000D_ _x000D_ Sweet Hope! celestial influence round me shed_x000D_ _x000D_ Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head.

What if this cursed hand_x000D_ _x000D_ Were thicker than itself with brother's blood_x000D_ _x000D_ Is there not rain enough in the sweet heaves_x000D_ _x000D_ To wash it white as snow?

What kind of man would live a life without daring? Is life so sweet that we_x000D_ _x000D_ should criticize men that seek adventure? Is there a better way to die?

Perhaps one has to be very old before one learns to be amused rather than shocked.

There is continual spring, and harvest there Continual, both meeting at one time: For both the boughs do laughing blossoms bear, And with fresh colours deck the wanton prime, And eke attonce the heavy trees they climb, Which seem to labour under their fruits load: The whiles the joyous birds make their pastime Amongst the shady leaves, their sweet above, And their true loves without suspicion tell abroad.

By night, Love, tie your heart to mine, and the two together in their sleep will defeat the darkness

I loved every second of Catholic church. I loved the sickly sweet rotting-pomegranate smells of the incense. I loved the overwrought altar, the birdbath of holy water, the votive candles; I loved that there was a poor box, the stations of the cross rendered in stained glass on the windows.

Do you know what a pearl is and what an opal is? My soul when you came sauntering to me first through those sweet summer evenings was beautiful but with the pale passionless beauty of a pearl. Your love has passed through me and now I feel my mind something like an opal, that is, full of strange uncertain hues and colours, of warm lights and quick shadows and of broken music.

I bid the chords sweet music make, And all must follow in my wake.

To regret the exchange of earthly pleasures for the joys of Heaven, is as if the grovelling caterpillar should lament that it must one day quit the nibbled leaf to soar aloft and flutter through the air, roving at will from flower to flower, sipping sweet honey from their cups, or basking in their sunny petals.

They accepted the pleasures of morning, the bright sun, the whelming sea and sweet air, as a time when play was good and life so full that hope was not necessary and therefore forgotten.

Farewell has a sweet sound of reluctance. Good-by is short and final, a word with teeth sharp to bite through the string that ties past to the future.