A Quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson

What omniscience has music! So absolutely impersonal, and yet every sufferer feels his secret sorrow soothed. — © Ralph Waldo Emerson
What omniscience has music! So absolutely impersonal, and yet every sufferer feels his secret sorrow soothed.
Childhood has no forebodings; but then, it is soothed by no memories of outlived sorrow.
This is where the strength of the physician lies, be he a quack, a homeopath or an allopath. He supplies the perennial demand for comfort, the craving for sympathy that every human sufferer feels.
Great sorrow makes sacred the sufferer.
Impersonal criticism?is like an impersonal fist fight or an impersonal marriage, and as successful.
There's a thing when you're always working on something you really love, and this one we loved so much, it feels like you have a secret, and you can't wait to let people in on the secret. But at the same time, there's that moment where, "What if they get the secret and they think the secret is stupid?!"
Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works.
A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it!
Under every burden, .....God will slip His hand. Every gulf of sorrow, .....His great love has spanned, Into every heart-ache, .....God will our His balm: Ease the pain and anguish, .....bring a blessed calm.
The tender pressure of his lips soothed her, like a warm drink in the dead of the winter, when every part of her felt so cold.
There are robberies that leave man or woman forever beggared of peace and joy, yet kept secret by the sufferer.
'T is hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.
There are some situations which men understand by instinct, by which reason is powerless to explain; in such cases the greatest poet is he who gives utterance to the most natural and vehement outburst of sorrow. Those who hear the bitter cry are as much impressed as if they listened to an entire poem, and when th sufferer is sincere they are right in regarding his outburst as sublime.
every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works, yet we require critics to explain the one and biographers to expound the other. That time hangs heavy on people's hands is the only explanation of the monstrous growth.
One feels as if it could never, never be less. And yet all griefs, when there is no bitterness in them, are soothed down by time.
Every atheist is an idolater- unless he is worshipping the true God in his impersonal aspect. The majority of the pious are idolaters.
There is a kind of latent omniscience, not only in every man, but in every particle.
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