A Quote by Edgar Fawcett

At some glad moment was it nature's choice to dower a scrap of sunset with a voice? — © Edgar Fawcett
At some glad moment was it nature's choice to dower a scrap of sunset with a voice?
You have no dower," he said. "Live, Keturah. Go home." "But I do have a dower," I said plainly. "This is my dower, Lord Death; the crown of flowers I will never wear at my wedding." He knelt on one knee before me. "The little house I would have had of my own, to furnish and clean. That, too, is part of my dower." "I will give you the world for your footstool," he said. "And most precious of all, I give you the wee baby I will never hold in my arms.
Looking at a sunset, just for a second you forget your separateness: you are the sunset. That is the moment when you feel the beauty of it. But the moment you say that it is a beautiful sunset, you are no longer feeling it; you have come back to your separate, enclosed entity of the ego. Now the mind is speaking. And this is one of the mysteries, that the mind can speak, and knows nothing; and the heart knows everything, and cannot speak.
It's perfectly clear that the millions of babies, who are crying at this very moment, want unanimously to be next to a live body. Do you really think they're all wrong? Theirs is the voice of nature. This is the clear, pure voice of nature, without intellectual interference.
I've never liked the moment of seeing something beautiful - a sunset, a moose, an elephant - and then raising a camera and trying to capture it for some future moment. That's always struck me as strange.
Each moment is a moment of choice and your commitments keep you true to yourself, choice by choice.
A good disposition is more valuable than gold, for the latter is the gift of fortune, but the former is the dower of nature.
I don't think homosexuality is a choice. Society forces you to think it's a choice, but in fact, it's in one's nature. The choice is whether one expresses one's nature truthfully or spends the rest of one's life lying about it.
SCRAP-BOOK, n. A book that is commonly edited by a fool. Many persons of some small distinction compile scrap-books containing whatever they happen to read about themselves or employ others to collect.
If you didn't have a choice, you had to make a choice. If you didn't have options, you made some. You couldn't just let this world happen to you... he didn't see eternity. He saw this girl and this moment and this one slim chance.
Choice by choice, moment by moment, I build the necklace of my day, stringing together the choices that form artful living.
We human beings do have some genuine freedom of choice and therefore some effective control over our own destinies. I am not a determinist. But I also believe that the decisive choice is seldom the latest choice in the series. More often than not, it will turn out to be some choice made relatively far back in the past.
The nature of freedom of choice is that some people will misuse their responsibility and hurt themselves in the process. We should do our best to educate them, but without diminishing choice for everyone else.
It was a rich and gorgeous sunset - an American sunset; and the ruddy glow of the sky was reflected from some extensive pools of water among the shadowy copses in the meadow below.
Once you've found your own voice, the choice to expand your influence, to increase your contribution, is the choice to inspire others to find their voice.
Who can assure us that we will be alive tomorrow? Let us listen to the voice of our conscience, to the voice of the royal prophet: "Today, if you hear God's voice, harden not your heart." Let us not put off from one moment to another (what we should do) because the (next moment) is not yet ours.
When a man leaves home, he leaves behind some scrap of his heart. . . . It's the same with a place a man is going to. Only then he sends a scrap of his heart ahead.
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