Ella Wilcox Quotes

Love lights more fires than hate extinguishes.

To sin by silence, when they should protest, makes cowards of men.

A weed is but an unloved flower.

Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone; For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own.

There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, that can circumvent, or hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul.

It is easy to tell the toiler How best he can carry his pack But no one can rate a burden's weight Until it has been on his back

A poor original is better than a good imitation.

It is easy enough to be pleasant, When life flows by like a song, But the man worth while is one who will smile, When everything goes dead wrong.

All love that has not friendship for its base, is like a mansion built upon sand.

So many gods, so many creeds, So many paths that wind and wind, While just the art of being kind Is all the sad world needs.

There's one sad truth in life I've found While journeying east and west - The only folks we really wound Are those we love the best. We flatter those we scarcely know, We please the fleeting guest, And deal full many a thoughtless blow To those who love us best.

We flatter those we scarcely know, We please the fleeting guest; And deal full many a thoughtless blow, To those who love us best.

One ship drives east and another drives west With the selfsame winds that blow. Tis the set of the sails And not the gales Which tells us the way to go. Like the winds of the seas are the ways of fate, As we voyage along through the life: Tis the set of a soul That decides its goal, And not the calm or the strife.

Always continue the climb. It is possible for you to do whatever you choose, if you first get to know who you are and are willing to work with a power that is greater than ourselves to do it.

Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone; For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own. Sing, and the hills will answer; Sigh, it is lost on the air; The echoes bound to a joyful sound, But shrink from voicing care. Rejoice, and men will seek you; Grieve, and they turn and go; They want full measure of all your pleasure, But they do not need your woe. Be glad, and your friends are many; Be sad, and you lose them all,— There are none to decline your nectared wine, But alone you must drink life’s gall. Feast, and your halls are crowded; Fast, and the world goes by. Succeed and give, and it helps you live, But no man can help you die. There is room in the halls of pleasure For a large and lordly train, But one by one we must all file on Through the narrow aisles of pain.

I am the voice of the voiceless; Through me the dumb shall speak. Till the deaf world's ears be made to hear. The wrongs of the wordless weak. And I am my brothers keeper, And I will fight his fights; And speak the words for beast and bird. Till the world shall set things right.

Feast, and your halls are crowded Fast, and the world goes by Succeed and give, and it helps you live But no man can help you die

It is easy to be pleasant when life flows by like a song, but the man worth while is the one who will smile when everything goes dead wrong. For the test of the heart is trouble, and it always comes with years, and the smile that is worth the praises of earth is the smile that shines through the tears.

We flatter those we scarcely know, We please the fleeting guest, And deal full many a thoughtless blow To those who love us best.

We two make banquets of the plainest fare In every cup we find the thrill of pleasure... For us life always moves with lilting measure We two, we two, we make our world, our pleasure

Two Kinds of People There are two kinds of people on earth today, Two kinds of people no more I say. Not the good or the bad, for it's well understood, The good are half bad, the bad are half good. Not the happy or sad, for in the swift-flying years, Bring each man his laughter, each man his tears. Not the rich or the poor, for to count a man's wealth, You must know the state of his conscience and health. Not the humble and proud, for in life's busy span, Who puts on vain airs is not counted a man. No! the two kinds of people on earth I mean, Are the people who lift, the people who lean. Wherever you go you'll find the world's masses Are ever divided into these two classes. And, strangely enough, you will find, too, I mean, There is only one lifter to twenty who lean. In which class are you? Are you easing the load Of the overtaxed lifters who toiled down the road? Or are you a leaner who lets others bear, Your portion of worry and labor and care?

Love much. Earth has enough of bitter in it.

In time the earth will be inhabited by almost god-like beings who shall analyze and discuss the remnants of humanity as we now discuss the chimpanzee.

Moon and Sea You are the moon, dear love, and I the sea: The tide of hope swells high within my breast, And hides the rough dark rocks of life's unrest When your fond eyes smile near in perigee. But when that loving face is turned from me, Low falls the tide, and the grim rocks appear, And earth's dim coast-line seems a thing to fear. You are the moon, dear one, and I the sea.

Why, even Death stands still and waits an hour for such a will.

laugh and the world laughs with you. weep and weep alone

Give of thy love, nor wait to know the worth Of what thou lovest; and ask no returning. And wheresoe'er thy pathway leads on earth, There thou shalt find the lamp of love-light burning.

Talk happiness. The world is sad enough Without your woe. No path is wholly rough.

Cukup mudah untuk bersikap menyenangkan, kalau hidup mengalir seperti lagu, Tapi orang yang hebat ialah yang bisa tersenyum, saat semua berantakan. Sebab ujian bagi hati adalah kesulitan. Dan kesulitan selalu datang setiap waktu. Dan senyuman yang layak disanjung dunia adalah senyuman yang bersinar menembusi air mata.

Berbicaralah mengenai hal-hal yang membahagiakan. Dunia sudah cukup sedih tanpa keluh kesah kita. Sebenarnya tidak ada jalan hidup yang seluruhnya sulit ditempuh.

Before night something beautiful will happen to change everything.

Thank God, I say, for while I love you so, With that vast love, as passionate as tender, I feel an exultation as I know I have not made you a complete surrender. Here is my body; bruise it, if you will, And break my heart; I have that something still. You cannot grasp it

A prayer without a deed is an arrow without a bow-string; A deed without a prayer is a bow-string without an arrow. ELLA WHEELER WILCOX

To sin by silence, when we should protest, Makes cowards out of men. The human race Has climbed on protest. Had no voice been raised Against injustice, ignorance, and lust, The inquisition yet would serve the law, And guillotines decide our least disputes. The few who dare, must speak and speak again To right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank God, No vested power in this great day and land Can gag or throttle. Press and voice may cry Loud disapproval of existing ills; May criticise oppression and condemn The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws That let the children and childbearers toil To purchase ease for idle millionaires. Therefore I do protest against the boast Of independence in this mighty land. Call no chain strong, which holds one rusted link. Call no land free, that holds one fettered slave. Until the manacled slim wrists of babes Are loosed to toss in childish sport and glee, Until the mother bears no burden, save The precious one beneath her heart, until God’s soil is rescued from the clutch of greed And given back to labor, let no man Call this the land of freedom.

To know for an hour you were mine completely -- Mine in body and soul, my own -- I would bear unending tortures sweetly, With not a murmur and not a moan. A lighter sin or a lesser error Might change through hope or fear divine; But there is no fear, and hell has no terror, To change or alter a love like mine.

You will be surprised to find how much that has seemed hopelessly disagreeable possesses either an instructive or an amusing side." from "The Heart of the New Thought" 1902.

I love your lips when they're wet with wine and red with wicked desire

One ship drives east and another drives west With the self-same winds that blow. ’Tis the set of the sails And not the gales Which tells us the way to go. ELLA WHEELER WILCOX, “WINDS OF FATE

I know not whence I came, I know not whither I go; But the fact stands clear that I am here In this world of pleasure and woe. And out of the mist and murk, Another truth shines plain. It is in my power each day and hour To add to its joy or its pain. I know that the earth exists, It is none of my business why. I cannot find out what it's all about, I would but waste time to try. My life is a brief, brief thing, I am here for a little space. And while I stay I would like, if I may, To brighten and better the place.

I hold it true that thoughts are things Endowed with bodies, breath, and wings, And that we send them forth to fill The world with good results - or ill. That which we call our secret thought Speeds to the earth's remotest spot, And leaves its blessings or its woes Like tracks behind it as it goes. It is God's law. Remember it In your still chamber as you sit With thoughts you would not dare have known, And yet made comrades when alone. These thoughts have life; and they will fly And leave their impress by-and-by, Like some marsh breeze, whose poisoned breath Breathes into homes its fevered breath. And after you have quite forgot Or all outgrown some vanished thought, Back to your mind to make its home, A dove or raven, it will come. Then let your secret thoughts be fair; They have a vital part and share In shaping worlds and moulding fate -- God's system is so intricate.

It is easy enough to be pleasant When life flows by like a song But the man worth while is one who will smile When everything goes dead wrong

Cinta mendatangkan cinta, dan benci mendatangkan benci.

There's one sad truth in life I've found while journeying east and west--the only folks we really wound are those we love the most. We flatter those we scarcely know; we please the fleeting guest, and deal full many a thoughtless blow to those who love us best.

GIVE THE WORLD THE BEST YOU HAVE, AND THE BEST WILL COME BACK TO YOU. —ELLA WHEELER WILCOX, AUTHOR AND POET

To possess character is to be useful, and to be useful is to be independent, and to be useful and independent, is to be happy, even in the midst of sorrow; for sorrow is not necessarily unhappiness.

All Mad" 'He is mad as a hare, poor fellow, And should be in chains,' you say, I haven't a doubt of your statement, But who isn't mad, I pray? Why, the world is a great asylum, And the people are all insane, Gone daft with pleasure or folly, Or crazed with passion and pain. The infant who shrieks at a shadow, The child with his Santa Claus faith, The woman who worships Dame Fashion, Each man with his notions of death, The miser who hoards up his earnings, The spendthrift who wastes them too soon, The scholar grown blind in his delving, The lover who stares at the moon. The poet who thinks life a paean, The cynic who thinks it a fraud, The youth who goes seeking for pleasure, The preacher who dares talk of God, All priests with their creeds and their croaking, All doubters who dare to deny, The gay who find aught to wake laughter, The sad who find aught worth a sigh, Whoever is downcast or solemn, Whoever is gleeful and gay, Are only the dupes of delusions— We are all of us—all of us mad.

With care, and skill, and cunning art, She parried Time's malicious dart, And kept the years at bay, Till passion entered in her heart and aged her in a day!

There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, that can circumvent or hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox quote that reminds me of you and your love of dandelions—‘a weed is but an unloved flower’.

Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone

The truest greatness lies in being kind, the truest wisdom in a happy mind.

So many gods, so many creeds, So many paths that wind and wind, When just the art of being kind Is all this sad world needs.

There is nothing we cannot live down, and rise above, and overcome.

Advice" I must do as you do? Your way I own Is a very good way, and still, There are sometimes two straight roads to a town, One over, one under the hill. You are treading the safe and the well-worn way, That the prudent choose each time; And you think me reckless and rash to-day Because I prefer to climb. Your path is the right one, and so is mine. We are not like peas in a pod, Compelled to lie in a certain line, Or else be scattered abroad. 'T were a dull old world, methinks, my friend, If we all just went one way; Yet our paths will meet no doubt at the end, Though they lead apart today. You like the shade, and I like the sun; You like an even pace, I like to mix with the crowd and run, And then rest after the race. I like danger, and storm, and strife, You like a peaceful time; I like the passion and surge of life, You like its gentle rhyme. You like buttercups, dewy sweet, And crocuses, framed in snow; I like roses, born of the heat, And the red carnation's glow. I must live my life, not yours, my friend, For so it was written down; We must follow our given paths to the end, But I trust we shall meet--in town.

After the fierce midsummer all ablaze Has burned itself to ashes, and expires In the intensity of its own fires, There come the mellow, mild, St. Martin days Crowned with the calm of peace, but sad with haze. So after Love has led us, till he tires Of his own throes, and torments, and desires, Comes large-eyed friendship: with a restful gaze, He beckons us to follow, and across Cool verdant vales we wander free from care. Is it a touch of frost lies in the air? Why are we haunted with a sense of loss? We do not wish the pain back, or the heat; And yet, and yet, these days are incomplete.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox gave evidence of her understanding of the power of the subconscious mind when she wrote: "You never can tell what a thought will do In bringing you hate or love-For thoughts are things, and their airy wings Are swifter than carrier doves. They follow the law of the universe-Each thing creates its kind, And they speed O'er the track to bring you back Whatever went out from your mind.

I have always been looking for the noble qualities in human beings, and I have found them. There are great souls all along the highway of life, and there are great qualities even in the people who seem common and weak to us ordinarily.

The world has a thousand creeds, and never a one have I; Nor a church of my own, though a million spires are pointing the way on high. But I float on the bosom of faith, that bears me along like a river; And the lamp of my soul is alight with love, for life, and the world, and the Giver.

After the fierce midsummer all ablaze Has burned itself to ashes, and expires In the intensity of its own fires, There come the mellow, mild, St. Martin days Crowned with the calm of peace, but sad with haze. So after Love has led us, till he tires Of his own throes, and torments, and desires, Comes large-eyed friendship: with a restful gaze, He beckons us to follow, and across Cool verdant vales we wander free from care. Is it a touch of frost lies in the air? Why are we haunted with a sense of loss? We do not wish the pain back, or the heat; And yet, and yet, these days are incomplete

Uselessness Let mine not be the saddest fate of all, To live beyond my greater self; to see My faculties decaying, as the tree Stands stark and helpless while its green leaves fall Let me hear rather the imperious call, Which all men dread, in my glad morning time, And follow death ere I have reached my prime, Or drunk the strengthening cordial of life's gall. The lightning's stroke or the fierce tempest blast Which fells the green tree to the earth to-day Is kinder than the calm that lets it last, Unhappy witness of its own decay. May no man ever look on me and say, 'She lives, but all her usefulness is past.

Though critics may bow to art, and I am its own true lover, It is not art, but heart, which wins the wide world over. Though smooth be the heartless prayer, no ear in Heaven will mind it, And the finest phrase falls dead if there is no feeling behind it. Though perfect the player's touch, little, if any, he sways us, Unless we feel his heart throb through the music he plays us. Though the poet may spend his life in skilfully rounding a measure, Unless he writes from a full, warm heart he gives us little pleasure. So it is not the speech which tells, but the impulse which goes with the saying; And it is not the words of the prayer, but the yearning back of the praying. It is not the artist's skill which into our soul comes stealing With a joy that is almost pain, but it is the player's feeling. And it is not the poet's song, though sweeter than sweet bells chiming, Which thrills us through and through, but the heart which beats under the rhyming. And therefore I say again, though I am art's own true lover, That it is not art, but heart, which wins the wide world over.

Voice of the Voiceless by Ella Wheeler Wilcox So many gods, so many creeds, So many paths that wind and wind, While just the art of being kind Is all the sad world needs. I am the voice of the voiceless: Through me, the dumb shall speak; Till the deaf world’s ear be made to hear The cry of the wordless weak. From street, from cage and from kennel, From jungle, and stall, the wail Of my tortured kin proclaims the sin Of the mighty against the frail For love is the true religion, And love is the law sublime; And all is wrought, where love is not Will die at the touch of time. Oh shame on the mothers of mortals Who have not stopped to teach Of the sorrow that lies in dear, dumb eyes, The sorrow that has no speech. The same Power formed the sparrow That fashioned man-the King; The God of the whole gave a living soul To furred and to feathered thing. And I am my brother’s keeper, And I will fight his fight; And speak the word for beast and bird Till the world shall set things right.

Bir gemi doğuya gider, biri batıya Esen aynı rüzgârla Hangi yöne gideceğini belirleyen Rüzgâr değil, yelkendir ELLA WHEELER WILCOX

Cry and you'll cry alone, Laugh and the world will laugh with you.

When we tire of well-worn ways, we seek for new. This restless craving in the souls of men spurs them to climb, and to seek the mountain view.

There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, that can hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul.

A prayer without a deed is an arrow without a bowstring; A deed without a prayer is a bowstring without an arrow. —Ella Wheeler Wilcox

There's one sad truth in life I've found While journeying east and west – The only folks we really wound Are those we love the best. We flatter those we scarcely know, We please the fleeting guest, And deal full many a thoughtless blow To those who love us best.” — Ella Wheeler Wilcox

And yet I would not be a child again. For surely as the night succeeds the day, So surely will their mirth turn into tears. And I would not return to happy hours, If I must live again these weary years. I would walk on, and leave it all behind: will walk on; and when my feet grow sore, The boatman waits—his sails are all unfurled— He waits to row me to a fairer shore.

Who but a God Could draw from light and moisture, heat and cold, And fashion in earth’s mould, A multitude of blooms to deck one sod?

I would kneel by the bank, in the grasses dank, And drink you, drink you, drink you. — Ella Wheeler Wilcox, from “If,” Picked Poems. (Chicago: W. B. Conkey Company, 1912)

To be able to enjoy heaven, one must learn first to enjoy earth.

It is enjoyed by millions of souls to-day—this great prize of life. I for one declare that for every day of misery in my existence I have had a week of joy and happiness. For every hour of pain, I have had a day of pleasure. For every moment of worry, an hour of content.

HOWEVER skilled and strong art thou, my foe, However fierce is thy relentless hate Though firm thy hand, and strong thy aim and straight Thy poisoned arrow leaves the bended bow, To pierce the target of my heart, ah! know I am the master yet of my own fate. Thou canst not rob me of my best estate, Though fortune, fame and friends, yea love shall go. Not to the dust shall my true self be hurled; Nor shall I meet thy worst assaults dismayed. When all things in the balance are well weighed, There is but one great danger in the world-- Thou cast not force my soul to wish thee ill, That is the only evil that can kill.

No joy for which thy hungering soul has panted, No hope it cherishes through waiting years, But, if thou dost deserve it, shall be granted; For with each passionate wish the blessing nears. The thing thou cravest so waits in the distance, Wrapt in the silence unseen and dumb Essential to thy soul and thy existence, Live worthy of it, call, and it shall come. —Ella Wheeler Wilcox

There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, Can circumvent or hinder or control The firm resolve of a determined soul.

But to every mind there openeth, A way, and way, and away, A high soul climbs the highway, And the low soul gropes the low, And in between on the misty flats, The rest drift to and fro. But to every man there openeth, A high way and a low, And every mind decideth, The way his soul shall go. One ship sails East, And another West, By the self-same winds that blow, 'Tis the set of the sails And not the gales, That tells the way we go. Like the winds of the sea Are the waves of time, As we journey along through life, 'Tis the set of the soul, That determines the goal, And not the calm or the strife.

Say you are well, or all is well with you, and God shall hear your words and make them come true. — Ella Wheeler Wilcox

So many gods, so many creeds, So many paths that wind and wind, While just the art of being kind Is all the sad world needs.

So many gods, so many creeds, So many paths that wind and wind, While just the art of being kind Is all this sad world needs.

THE LIFE WORTH WHILE Like one blindfolded groping out his way, I will not try to touch beyond to-day. Since all the future is concealed from sight, I need but strive to make the next step right.

Many writers tie their writing ability to some kind of occult influence. Robertson belongs to a much larger pattern in the world of letters that Jeffrey Kripal has charted in his book Mutants and Mystics—science-fiction and comic book writers inspired in their work by paranormal and “psychic” experiences.5 Robertson reported the distinct sensation when he was setting words to page that he was channeling, in the words of one friend, “some discarnate soul, some spirit entity with literary ability, denied physical expression, [which] had commandeered his body and brain.”6 When poet Ella Wheeler Wilcox wrote to Robertson in the aftermath of the Titanic tragedy to ask him about it, Robertson replied: As to the motif of my story, I merely tried to write a good story with no idea of being a prophet. But, as in other stories of mine, and in the work of other and better writers, coming discoveries and events have been anticipated. I do not doubt that it is because all creative workers get into a hypnoid, telepathic and percipient condition, in which, while apparently awake, they are half asleep, and tap, not only the better informed minds of others but the subliminal realm of unknown facts. Some, as you know, believe that in this realm there is no such thing as Time, and the fact that a long dream can occur in an instant of time gives color to it, and partly explains prophecy.7

Ella Wheeler Wilcox gave evidence of her understanding of the power of the subconscious mind when she wrote: “You never can tell what a thought will do In bringing you hate or love— For thoughts are things, and their airy wings Are swifter than carrier doves. They follow the law of the universe— Each thing creates its kind, And they speed O’er the track to bring you back Whatever went out from your mind.

A prayer without a deed is an arrow without a bowstring; A deed without a prayer is a bowstring without an arrow. The heart of a man should be like a quiver full of arrows, And the hand of a man should be like a strong bow strung for action. The heart of a man should keep his arrows ever ascending, And the hand and the mind of a man should keep at a work unending.

I sometimes think God must be a woman--He is expected to forgive so much.

I would rather be faithful to my future than to my past, if it becomes a matter of choice.

Love thyself last, Look near, behold thy duty To those who walk beside thee down life’s road; Make glad their days by little acts of beauty, And help them bear the burden of earth’s load. ELLA W. WILCOX (1850–1919)

IMPATIENCE. How can I wait until you come to me? The once fleet mornings linger by the way, Their sunny smiles touched with malicious glee At my unrest; they seem to pause, and play Like truant children, while I sigh and say, How can I wait? How can I wait? Of old, the rapid hours Refused to pause or loiter with me long; But now they idly fill their hands with flowers, And make no haste, but slowly stroll among The summer blooms, not heeding my one song, How can I wait? How can I wait? The nights alone are kind; They reach forth to a future day, and bring Sweet dreams of you to people all my mind; And time speeds by on light and airy wing. I feast upon your face, I no more sing, How can I wait?

He whose heart is full of tenderness, and truth; Who loves mankind more than he loves himself, And cannot find room in his heart to hate, May be another Christ. We all may be The Saviours of the world, if we believe In the Divinity which dwells in us And worship it, and nail our grosser selves, Our tempers, greeds, and our unworthy aims, Upon the cross. Who giveth love to all, Pays kindness for unkindness, smiles for frowns, Lends new courage to each fainting heart, And strengthens hope and scatters joy abroad, He, too, is a Redeemer, Son of God. Ella Wheeler Wilcox5

Always continue the climb. It is possible for you to do whatever you choose, if you first get to know who you are and are willing to work with a power that is greater than ourselves to do it.” Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I Love You I love your lips when they’re wet with wine And red with a wild desire; I love your eyes when the lovelight lies Lit with a passionate fire. I love your arms when the warm white flesh Touches mine in a fond embrace; I love your hair when the strands enmesh Your kisses against my face. Not for me the cold, calm kiss Of a virgin’s bloodless love; Not for me the saint’s white bliss, Nor the heart of a spotless dove. But give me the love that so freely gives And laughs at the whole world’s blame, With your body so young and warm in my arms, It sets my poor heart aflame. So kiss me sweet with your warm wet mouth, Still fragrant with ruby wine, And say with a fervor born of the South That your body and soul are mine. Clasp me close in your warm young arms, While the pale stars shine above, And we’ll live our whole young lives away In the joys of a living love.

The fortunate is he whose earnest purpose never swerves, Whose slightest action or inaction serves The one great aim. Why, even Death stands still, And waits an hour sometimes For such a will.