The lily and the rose in her fair face striving for precedence. — Nathaniel Parker Willis Copy Share Image
Pitch a lucky man into the Nile, says the Arabian proverb, and he will come up with a fish in his mouth! — Nathaniel Parker Willis Copy Share
I love to go and mingle with the young In the gay festal room--when every heart Is beating faster than the merry tune, And… — Nathaniel Parker Willis Copy Share
The rain is playing its soft pleasant tune fitfully on the skylight, and the shade of the fast-flying clouds across my book passed with… — Nathaniel Parker Willis Copy Share
Your love in a cottage is hungry, Your vine is a nest for flies- Your milkmaid shocks the Graces, And simplicity talks of pies!… — Nathaniel Parker Willis Copy Share
The innocence that feels no risk and is taught no caution, is more vulnerable than guilt, and oftener assailed. — Nathaniel Parker Willis Copy Share
How beautiful it is for a man to die Upon the walls of Zion! to be called Like a watch-worn and weary sentinel, To… — Nathaniel Parker Willis Copy Share
One gets, sensitive about losing mornings after getting a little used to them with living in a country. Each one of these endlessly varied… — Nathaniel Parker Willis Copy Share
If e'er I win a parting token, 'Tis something that has lost its power-- A chain that has been used and broken, A ruin'd… — Nathaniel Parker Willis Copy Share
The expressive word "quiet" defines the dress, manners, bow, and even physiognomy of every true denizen of St. James and Bond street. — Nathaniel Parker Willis Copy Share
Fine taste is an aspect of genius itself, and is the faculty of delicate appreciation, which makes the best effects of art our own. — Nathaniel Parker Willis Copy Share
Ah me! the world is full of meetings such as this,--a thrill, a voiceless challenge and reply, and sudden partings after! — Nathaniel Parker Willis Copy Share
There they stand, the innumerable stars, shining in order like a living hymn, written in light. — Nathaniel Parker Willis Copy Share
The night is made for tenderness,--so still that the low whisper, scarcely audible, is heard like music,--and so deeply pure that the fond thought… — Nathaniel Parker Willis Copy Share
