Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
The dream Dreamed by a happy man, when the dark East, Unseen, is brightening to his bridal morn.
Evolution ever climbing after some ideal good, And Reversion ever dragging Evolution in the mud.
What was once to me mere matter of the fancy now has grown the vast necessity of heart and life.
How many a father have I seen, A sober man, among his boys, Whose youth was full of foolish noise.
It may be that no life is found, Which only to one engine bound Falls off, but cycles always round.
For this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.
Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
If Nature put not forth her power About the opening of the flower, Who is it that could live an hour?
Once in a golden hour, I cast to earth a seed, And up there grew a flower, That others called a weed.
Whatever crazy sorrow saith, No life that breathes with human breath Has ever truly longed for death.
It's better to have tried and failed than to live life wondering what would've happened if I had tried
Read my little fable: He that runs may read. Most can raise the flowers now, For all have got the seed.
This truth within thy mind rehearse, That in a boundless universe Is boundless better, boundless worse.
I know that age to age succeeds, Blowing a noise of tongues and deeds, A dust of systems and of creeds.
O love, O fire! once he drew With one long kiss my whole soul through My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.
Forgive! How many will say, forgive, and find a sort of absolution in the sound to hate a little longer!
The parting of a husband and wife is like the cleaving of a heart; one half will flutter here, one there.
Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell when I embark.
A life of nothing's nothing worth, From that first nothing ere his birth, To that last nothing under earth.
As she fled fast through sun and shade The happy winds upon her play'd, Blowing the ringlet from the braid.
Oh that it were possible, After long grief and pain, To find the arms of my true love, Around me once again
And men, whose reason long was blind, From cells of madness unconfined, Oft lose whole years of darker mind.
Gone - flitted away, Taken the stars from the night and the sun From the day! Gone, and a cloud in my heart.
From yon blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.
We love but while we may; And therefore is my love so large for thee, Seeing it is not bounded save by love.
For every worm beneath the moon Draws different threads, and late and soon Spins, toiling out his own cocoon.
Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be… And thou, O Lord, art more than they.
But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.
if you don't concentrate on what you are doing then the thing that you are doing is not what you are thinking.
Fill the cup, and fill the can: Have a rouse before the morn: Every moment dies a man, Every moment one is born.
I grow in worth, and wit, and sense, Unboding critic-pen, Or that eternal want of pence, Which vexes public men.
The night comes on that knows not morn, When I shall cease to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn.
Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar When I put out to sea.
Her court was pure, her life serene; God gave her peace; her land reposed; A thousand claims to reverence closed.
So now I have sworn to bury All this dead body of hate I feel so free and so clear By the loss of that dead weight
How dull it is to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life.
Mastering the lawless science of our law,- that codeless myriad of precedent, that wilderness of single instances.
I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.
I am on fire within. There comes no murmur of reply. What is it that will take away my sin, And save me lest I die?
I will be deafer than the blue-eyed cat, And thrice as blind as any noonday owl, To holy virgins in their ecstasies.
All experience is an arch wherethro' gleams that untraveled world whose margins fade forever and forever as we move.
It is the little rift within the lute That by and by will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all.
Till last by Philip's farm I flow To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on for ever.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott.
Launch your vessel, And crowd your canvas, And, ere it vanishes Over the margin, After it, follow it, FollowThe Gleam.
But every page having an ample marge, And every marge enclosing in the midst A square of text that looks a little blot.
Follow the deer? Follow the Christ the King. Live pure, speak true,right wrong, Follow the King-- Else, wherefore born?
For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be.
Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, match'd with mine, Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine.
Here about the beach I wandered, nourishing a youth sublime With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of Time.