Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams, Unnatural and full of contradictions; Yet others of our most romantic schemes, Are something more than fictions.
Thomas HoodRead
Peace and rest at length have come,_x000D_ _x000D_ All the day's long toil is past;_x000D_ _x000D_ And each heart is whispering, "Home,_x000D_ _x000D_ Home at last!"
Interpretation
This quote celebrates the relief and joy of returning home after a long day's work.
Thomas Hood's quote expresses a deep sense of relief and contentment that comes after a day of hard work. It highlights the universal longing for home, which symbolizes safety, comfort, and belonging. The phrase suggests that, despite the struggles of a day's toil, the ultimate joy lies in returning to a place where one feels at peace.
In practice
This quote could be used as a closing statement during a family gathering.
Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams, Unnatural and full of contradictions; Yet others of our most romantic schemes, Are something more than fictions.
Tis like the birthday of the world,_x000D_ _x000D_ When earth was born in bloom;_x000D_ _x000D_ The light is made of many dyes,_x000D_ _x000D_ The air is all perfume:_x000D_ _x000D_ There's crimson buds, and white and blue,_x000D_ _x000D_ The very rainbow showers_x000D_ _x000D_ Have turned to blossoms where they fell,_x000D_ _x000D_ And sown the earth with flowers.
Some minds improve by travel, others, rather, resemble copper wire, or brass, which get the narrower by going farther.
It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm further off from heaven Than when I was a boy.
The Autumn is old; The sere leaves are flying; He hath gather'd up gold, And now he is dying;- Old age, begin sighing!
I resolved that, like the sun, as long as my day lasted, I would look on the bright side of everything.
Never let your fears be the boundaries of your dreams._x000D_ _x000D_ Happiness is a direction, not a place.
The greatest source of unhappiness comes from inside.
It is the nature of babies to be in bliss.
Real happiness is cheap enough, yet how dearly we pay for its counterfeit.
Forsythia is pure joy. There is not an ounce, not a glimmer of sadness or even knowledge in forsythia. Pure, undiluted, untouched joy.
Repose, leisure, peace, belong among the elements of happiness. If we have not escaped from harried rush, from mad pursuit, from unrest, from the necessity of care, we are not happy. And what of contemplation? Its very premise is freedom from the fetters of workaday busyness. Moreover, it itself actualizes this freedom by virtue of being intuition.
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