Title: Day Dreams
Author: Rudolph Valentino
Release date: December 26, 2021 [eBook #67016]
Most recently updated: October 18, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
DAY DREAMS
RUDOLPH VALENTINO
Published by
MACFADDEN PUBLICATIONS, Inc.
New York
1923
{vi}
Copyright, 1923
BY
RUDOLPH VALENTINO
Printed
in U. S. A.
{vii}
To J. C. N. G.
MY FRIENDS HERE AND THERE
TO you, my gentle reader, I wish to say a foreword of warning before you peruse the contents of this book. I am not a poet nor a scholar, therefore you shall find neither poems nor prose. Just dreams—Day Dreams—a bit of romance, a bit of sentimentalism, a bit of philosophy, not studied, but acquired by constant observation of that greatest of masters!... Nature!
While lying idle, not through choice, but because forcibly kept from my preferred and actual field of activity, I took to dreams to forget the tediousness of worldly strife and the boredom of jurisprudence’s pedantic etiquette.
Happy indeed I shall be if my Day Dreams will bring you as much enjoyment in the reading as they brought to me in the writing.
New York—May 29th, 1923.
DAY DREAMS
Extravaganza! The very word is vulgar. Still vulgarity is necessary to development, for even a weed growing in a swamp can sometimes be cultivated into a hot house plant. Take an orchid not under its own surroundings, but dress it by putting it in a proper receptacle, and what a difference! But, outside of beauty what have you? If we could only combine the beauty of an orchid with the soul of a weed we would get an improvement in the orchid, for real weeds are grateful enough to spring up between cobblestones, even to be trampled upon.
Rather be a blade of grass that knows the heart beats of Mother Earth, than the potted plant which is pampered and only restored to a semblance of life.
Why do the birds chant the psalm of glory?
Only because they alone are free throated and unafraid. Do they realize the danger in the sling-shot of civilization? No—they are only conscious of the Joy within.
Lives are classes—we are pupils with excellent teachers. Experience should tutor us, but we so often shirk school. School can be made happy and we delight in making a higher grade—but through not heeding Experience’s teaching we often are left back in the old class, and sometimes, sad to relate, are put several grades lower.
But, happily, there is always the opportunity of skipping many grades upward. It’s a poor rule that doesn’t work both ways.
The Mind is the Grade we work in. We can have majestic thoughts, living in a hermit’s hut, or we can think as a swine in a palace on a throne of gold—let us choose our station—kingly children, or swineherds. Eternity is the Empire.
To rake over the dead ashes of a burnt out love one must use the pen point of poetry.
The sky is the mirror that reflects all phases of Life. The clouds of Doubt bring showers, but there is always the “Silver Lining” promise.
Moral: If the sky is the limit better fix it clear in your mind to begin with.
Diamonds | —Scintillating wit of sharpest ray |
Emeralds | —Philosophy, growth in words today |
Pearls | —Are the hymns of pity |
Sapphires | —Songs of the skies |
Rubies | —Are poems of passion |
And love that never dies. |
The curtain is raised on the first act—the overture is over. We can play our parts. They say life’s a stage, but what a sad thing we have so few good stage managers. Our productions have more in the way of Costume and lack, so often, the right lines. Lines do count, not always words, but sympathy of thought is quite as necessary.
Sympathy is just as essential to the world as any other great attribute of good, but it must be sympathy in the right place.
Sympathy of thought has been the greatest lever in the machinery of mankind, but to sympathize with a weak nature sometimes breaks up his foundation. Know your subject.
Never withhold sympathy in loving one, but rather than sympathy, use encouragement as a tonic to tone up a weakling.
Kindly sympathetic interest is only another name for encouragement.
Never take away a prop without putting a stronger one in its place.
On a stretch of sandy beach I see naught of human presence, but upon looking closer, a remembrance of the past. I sit upon a rock and meditate upon what once was. I see myself in all the splendor of my youth. I see my boon companion—Hope, and one other one, whose name I’d best forget. We walked—Hope and I—but ever the unnamed one stalked by my side. I turned to gaze in fascination at my companion who speaks not, but forever stalks silently beside me. I finally forget my Hope to gaze in interest at the other. Hope, neglected, lags behind until we walk alone—myself and the unnamed one. We walk forever, but the walk brings us to the abyss of the world. What name has that one whose identity I fail to know? O, Eternity, thou art my sight and knowledge. It was Doubt, whose companion I became.
A certain lad had a long way to go, so he sat still and waited until—well, another lad also had a long way to go—so he hurried along and before long he received several gifts not to be sneezed at. No, they were not to be sneezed at, though I must say they made his eyes water a bit. The gifts were lovely little blisters on his pedal extremities, so he had to sit down and take care of his poor feet and in pain tarried, looking at his poor feet. Ah, yes, our other little lad took it very slowly, almost like the proverbial snail, but kept on the lookout and pretty soon a nice, comfortable wagon came along, and took the slow little boy for a nice ride, and the good little slow boy rode merrily by the poor little fast boy, who still sat nursing his blisters. He had really gone stepping on some little brimstones,—though he said they were pebbles. The good little slow boy turned back and put his hand to the poor little fast boy, but I regret to say he raised his digits to his nose—O, world where is thy sting.
Note—This is not a moral, it is only something that happens every day on our best trafficked roads.
I take a bone—I gaze at it in wonder—You, O bit of strength that was. In you today I see the whited sepulchre of nothingness—but you were the shaft that held the wagon of Life. Your strength held together the vehicle of Man until God called and the Soul answered.
A dog is the nearest approach to the sweet submissive spirit God would have in us, Faithfulness in the highest form. He only is faithful because he believes in you, as God would have us believe in Him.
Woman, the unreasonable Reason for the Great Reason, which the sages call Life—Others not so knowing call it Love.
Faith—The Engagement—repartee of Love. Hope—Marriage—maybe its reply, but Charity—Divorce—is the retort courteous.
The wedding march or two-step, I should say, is only too often the lock-step.
Punishment is seldom unmerited, though we may not always see the cause.
It is unwise to doubt others when you are not sure of yourself.
Scientists are fools in some respects, I mean the so-called ones, for they ignore the science of all important things.
Friend is symbolical of Heaven, but some play Hell with it.
Fun is a healthy disease and is very contagious.
“May I intrude” is often substituted for “Do I intrude"—bores are not connoisseurs in the selection of verbs.
Make the best of what comes, for the best is coming.
The Great Divide is the division of thought which separates the Wise from the Fools.
Whatever has in it the element of restlessness is like the poison ivy plant; it causes rash and spasmodic movements, and after all the scratching the victim is worse off than before.
Worlds, and Worlds to live in, and so few do.
Care is helpful if we carefully care, but when we carelessly care, be careful.
Gossip—never related in the same way.
When you eat hash you do not always recognize the different kinds of meat in it, do you? So it is with Twice Told Tales.
We always prefer the most difficult way. It seems so much more important, but once we realize it, truth is always simplest when it is Truth.
It takes a hero to accuse no one, but take another’s accusation to his heart.
Love’s greatest expression is Service.
Eyes are living windows.
Into the garden we all go, but most are looking for the worm in the bud and never see the promise of the flower.
Take freedom but take care lest it take your liberty from you.
To be a humorist one must be concise, witty, but short-lived, for the good die young.
Publicity is the keystone in the Arch of Triumph.
Money—pretender to the throne of all we most desire.
Doubt is the opposing influence of our lives.
Happiness, some never know as a lasting friend, but only as a bowing acquaintance.
Wifehood is a profession, but Womanhood is the Expression.
Faith is the oasis in our Desert of Lost Hope.
Given a chance to run in the Great Race, even a weakling can win if he wears the Armor of Courage.
Purpose in doing is the cornerstone of success.
Did anything ever build itself over night that was worthy the name Great Structure?
Loving service is more helpful than scholarly advice.
Friend—Most lovely word, akin to love, its dearest relation—might I say.
We dream of Greatness in humility, only to awaken to the greatness of Humility.