Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
What I do is me, for that I came.
Glory be to God for dappled things.
The male quality is the creative gift.
What is all this juice and all this joy?
What you look at hard seems to look at you.
The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
Horrible to say, in a manner I am a Communist.
As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame
Even with one companion ecstasy is almost banished.
It kills me to be time's eunuch and never to beget.
Life death all does end and each day dies with sleep.
Crystal sincerity hath found no shelter but in a fool's cap.
Beauty is a relation, and the apprehension of it a comparison.
When we hew or delve: After-comers cannot guess the beauty been.
I say that we are wound With mercy round and round As if with air.
Natural heart's ivy, Patience masks Our ruins of wrecked past purpose.
Searching nature I taste self but at one tankard, that of my own being.
God?is so great that all things give him glory if you mean they should.
The effect of studying masterpieces is to make me admire and do otherwise.
The poetical language of an age should be the current language heightened.
I do not write for the public. You are my public and I hope to convert you.
Our Lord Jesus Christ , my brethren, is our hero, a hero all the world wants.
Do you know, a horrible thing has happened to me. I have begun to doubt Tennyson.
O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed.
I awoke in the Midsummer not-to-call night, in the white and the walk of the morning
Let Him easter in us, be a dayspring to the dimness of us, be a crimson-cresseted east.
Nothing is so beautiful as spring- When weeds in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush.
Give beauty back, beauty, beauty, beauty, back to God, beauty's self and beauty's giver.
Your personal boundaries protect the inner core of your identity and your right to choices.
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
I always knew in my heart Walt Whitman's mind to be more like my own than any other man's living.
The Best ideal is the true and other truth is none. All glory be ascribed to the holy Three in One.
I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day. What hours, O what black hours we have spent This night!
All the world is full of inscape and chance left free to act falls into an order as well as purpose.
Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes, vales, All the air things wear that build this world of Wales.
That piecemeal peace is poor peace. What pure peace allows Alarms of wars, the daunting wars, the death of it?
I have desired to go Where springs not fail, To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail And a few lilies blow.
ELECTED Silence, sing to me And beat upon my whorlèd ear, Pipe me to pastures still and be The music that I care to hear.
And I have asked to be Where no storms come, Where the green swell is in the havens dumb, And out of the swing of the sea.
I think that the trivialness of life is, and personally to each one, ought to be seen to be, done away with by the Incarnation.
For myself I make no secret, I look forward with eager desire to seeing the matchless beauty of Christ's body in the heavenly light.
I do not think I have ever seen anything more beautiful than the bluebell I have been looking at. I know the beauty of our Lord by it.
For Christ plays in ten thousand places,/ Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his/ To the Father through the features of men’s faces.
Birds buildbut not I build; no, but strain, Time's eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes. Mine,O thou lord of life, send my roots rain.
Look at the stars! Look, look up at the skies! Oh look at all the fire-folk sitting in the air! The bright boroughs, the circle-citadels there!
When I compare myself, my being-myself, with anything else whatever, all things alike, all in the same degree, rebuff me with blank unlikeness.
No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear, Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.
It is a happy thing that there is no royal road to poetry. The world should know by this time that one cannot reach Parnassus except by flying thither.
The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out, like shining from shook foil; It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil Crushed.
I am all at once what Christ is, ' since he was what I am, and This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, ' patch, matchwood, immortal diamond, Is immortal diamond.