Myrtle Reed Quotes

The river itself portrays humanity precisely, with its tortuous windings, its accumulation of driftwood, its unsuspected depths, and its crystalline shallows, singing in the Summer sun. Barriers may be built across its path, but they bring only power, as the conquering of an obstacle is always sure to do. Sometimes when the rocks and stone-clad hills loom large ahead, and eternity itself would be needed to carve a passage, there is an easy way around. The discovery of it makes the river sing with gladness and turns the murmurous deeps to living water, bright with ripples and foam.

The heart's seasons seldom coincide with the calendar. Who among us has not been made desolate beyond all words upon some golden day when the little creatures of the air and meadow were life incarnate, from sheer joy of living? Who among us has not come home, singing, when the streets were almost impassable with snow, or met a friend with a happy, smiling face, in the midst of a pouring rain?

Have you ever seen a man carry a burden when there were woman's shoulders near enough to shift it to?

When a man seeks a woman's society it is because he has need of her, not because he thinks she has need of him;

Three things I have longed to see," murmured Miss Cynthia, pointedly. "The sea serpent, a white rhinoceros, and an unselfish man.

A man says: "I love you - will you marry me?" What he really means is: "Will you come to look after my house, do my mending, bear my children, bring them up, cook for me when necessary, and see that the plumbing is in perfect order? I shall give you board and clothes, though you may have to speak several times about the clothes, and an occasional pat on the cheek.

By day we may deal with the airy superstructure of our emotions, but, at three in the morning, we get down to the foundation. At night the soul claims the right to stand face to face with itself, as before some mirror placed in a pitiless light and, with unsparing eyes, seek the truth.

Ah, it is a strange thing - Love's little fingers on the heart, making tenderness out of bitterness and changing weakness into strength! When once a woman's eyes, with understanding love, have looked into the very depths of a man's soul, he need seek no farther for the Philosopher's Stone. As if by magic, the love of the many comes with the love of one. One flash of the love-light makes the whole world new, one chord of Love's music changes all sound to song, and one touch of Love's hand so glorifies the earth that it needs no other alchemy to make it truly gold.

You stand alone upon a height," he said, dreamily, "like one in a dreary land. Behind you all is darkness, before you all is darkness; there is but one small space of light. In that one space is a day. They come, one at a time, from the night of To-morrow, and vanish into the night of Yesterday. "I have thought of the days as men and women, for a woman's day is not at all like a man's. For you, I think, they first were children, with laughing eyes and little, dimpled hands. One at a time, they came out of the darkness, and disappeared into the darkness on the other side. Some brought you flowers or new toys and some brought you childish griefs, but none came empty-handed. Each day laid its gift at your feet and went on. "Some brought their gifts wrapped up, that you might have the surprise of opening them. Many a gift in a bright-hued covering turned out to be far from what you expected when you were opening it. Some of the happiest gifts were hidden in dull coverings you took off slowly, dreading to see the contents. Some days brought many gifts, others only one. "As the days grew older, some brought you laughter; some gave you light and love. Others came with music and pleasure--and some of them brought pain." "Yes," sighed Evelina, "some brought pain." "It is of that," went on the Piper, "that I wished to be speaking. It was one day, was it not, that brought you a long sorrow?" "Yes." "Not more than one? Was it only one day?" "Yes, only one day," "See," said The Piper, gently, "the day came with her gift. You would not let her lay it at your feet and pass on into the darkness of Yesterday. You held her by her grey garments and would not let her go. You kept searching her sad eyes to see whether she did not have further pain for you. Why keep her back from her appointed way? Why not let your days go by?" "The other days," murmured Evelina, "have all been sad." "Yes, and why? You were holding fast to one day--the one that brought you pain. So, with downcast eyes they passed you, and carried their appointed gifts on into Yesterday, where you can never find them again. Even now, the one day you have been holding is struggling to free herself from the chains you have put upon her. You have no right to keep a day." "Should I not keep the gifts?" she asked. His fancy pleased her. "The gifts, yes--even the gifts of tears, but never a day. You cannot hold a happy day, for it goes too quickly. This one sad day that marched so slowly by you is the one you chose to hold. Lady," he pleaded, "let her go!

Some day!" Ah, all the waiting ones of earth have taken solace from the sound. Some day wet eyes shall shine, but not with tears, and quivering lips shall smile again. Some day the deep lines shall be smoothed from every careworn face, and the knotted, roughened hands made soft once more. Thorns that lie deep in tender hearts shall be drawn away and precious herbs shall bring their healing sweetness to the wound. Some day each hungry soul shall find its mate and they two shall comfort one another with the gentle ministry of love. The lost violets shall come again and make the aisles of springtime scented purple ways. Icebound streams shall chant the summer song and the sleeping forests away to life once more. For this is the eternal law. For every hour of suffering we are paid with abundant joy; for every surge of our helpless, finite passion there is a returning flow. For every swelling of the heart comes a moment of rest; for every hour of the night there is one of sun. And all who weep may dry their tears with this, for as truly as morning dawns the light shall come. And even in our sorrow we are not alone.

You can sit down and think of everything a woman ought to be - even write it out, if you choose, and when you get through you'll discover that you've written an accurate description of Judith Sylvester. Sometimes I wonder whether she's merely human, like the rest of us, or a saint temporarily come to earth to make us think better of a world that has her in it.

How old is she?" "Sixty, by her hair - thirty-five or forty by her face." "And how old by her mind and soul?" "I don't know," laughed Margery. "How many ages are there for the same person?" "Three - one of the body, one of the mind, and one of the soul. Sometimes a soul of six and a mind of fifteen are shut up in a body of thirty or more, and again, in a body of twenty there'll be a mind of about the same age and a very old soul. You see all sorts of queer combinations. This is what makes life so unfailingly interesting. We can measure the age of the body by years, but not the others.

...by knowing a few people well, I know the whole world, for human nature is the same the world over and does not change. Having only a drop of water, a microscope, and a dream, I fashion from it the sea. I know it, perhaps, as he does not, who only crosses it in a ship.