Thomas Bailey Aldrich (/ˈɔːldrɪtʃ/; November 11, 1836 – March 19, 1907) was an American poet, novelist, travel writer and editor. Read full biography of Thomas Bailey Aldrich →
A man is known by the company his mind keeps.
To keep the heart unwrinkled, to be hopeful, kindly, cheerful, reverent - that is to triumph over old age.
What is lovely never dies, But passes into other loveliness.
No bird has ever uttered note That was not in some first bird's throat; Since Eden's freshness and man's fall No rose has been original.
The ocean moans over dead men's bones.
I like to have a thing suggested rather than told in full. When every detail is given, the mind rests satisfied, and the imagination loses the desire... →
Civilization is the lamb's skin in which barbarism masquerades.
They fail, and they alone, who have not striven.
True art selects and paraphrases, but seldom gives a verbatim translation.
Books that have become classics - books that have had their day and now get more praise than perusal - always remind me of retired colonels and... →
There must be such a thing as a child with average ability, but you can't find a parent who will admit that it is his child.
The man who suspects his own tediousness is yet to be born.
Thomas Bailey Aldrich (/ˈɔːldrɪtʃ/; November 11, 1836 – March 19, 1907) was an American poet, novelist, travel writer and editor.