Quotes of All Topics . Occasions . Authors
The idea that affable Boris[Johnson] is actually divisive, selfish and unreliable is Mr 's biggest weakness.
We age inevitably: The old joys fade and are gone: And at last comes equanimity and the flame burning clear.
The purely Great Whose soul no siren passion could unsphere, Thou nameless, now a power and mixed with fate.
Not a deed would he do, Not a word would he utter, Till he's weighed its relation To plain bread and butter.
Metaphor is no argument, though it be sometimes the gunpowder to drive one home, and imbed it in the memory.
I feel like I am in the service of the poem. The poem isn't something I make. The poem is something I serve.
You've never seen death? Look in the mirror every day and you will see it like bees working in a glass hive.
He is incapable of a truly good action who finds not a pleasure in contemplating the good actions of others.
The summer demands and takes away too much. /But night, the reserved, the reticent, gives more than it takes
I am, as far as my politics reaches, 'King and Country' - no 'Innovations in Religion and Government' say I.
I'm a great believer in the capsule wardrobe - a wardrobe where's there's a limited palate of black colours.
I neglect God and his angles for the noise of a fly, for the rattling of a coach, for the whining of a door.
The commendation of adversaries is the greatest triumph of a writer, because it never comes unless extorted.
So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn Which once he wore; The glory from his gray hairs gone For evermore!
Nothing ever becomes real till experienced – even a proverb is no proverb until your life has illustrated it
I am convinced more and more day by day that fine writing is next to fine doing, the top thing in the world.
I have good reason to be content, for thank God I can read and perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths.
So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear,Farewell remorse: all good to me is lost;Evil,be thou my good.
All is beautiful and unceasing, all is music and reason, and all, like diamond, is carbon first, then light.
Prison is essentially a shortage of space made up for by a surplus of time; to an inmate, both are palpable.
Bookstores should be located not only on campuses or on main drags, but at the assembly plant's gates, also.
The grape gains its purple tinge by looking at another grape. [Lat., Uvaque conspecta livorem ducit ab uva.]
Every war is its own excuse. That's why they're all surrounded with ideals. That's why they're all crusades.
If we are lucky, we can give in and rest without feeling guilty. We can stop doing and concentrate on being.
Traversing a slow page, to come upon a lode of the pure shining metal is to exult inwardly for greedy hours.
The tears that you spill, the sorrowful, are sweeter than the laughter of snobs and the guffaws of scoffers.
Poverty is a veil that obscures the face of greatness. An appeal is a mask covering the face of tribulation.
Though you may hear me holler, And you may see me cry-- I'll be dogged, sweet baby, If you gonna see me die.
Shakespeare alternated between musical surrenders to social prestige and magnificent fits of poetic remorse.
The lover and the physician are each popular from the same cause - we talk to them of nothing but ourselves.
Memory has many conveniences, and, among others, that of foreseeing things as they have afterwards happened.
Love is made by two people, in different kinds of solitude. It can be in a crowd, but in an oblivious crowd.
Intellectually, most people never wash. They never free their minds of the accumulated rubbish of centuries.
From the heart of the fountain of delight rises a jet of bitterness that tortures us among the very flowers.
It is doubtful what fortune to-morrow will bring. [Lat., Posteraque in dubio est fortunam quam vehat aetas.]
Far away, our dreams have nothing to do with what we do. The wind carries the night, and passes on, aimless.
Nothing changes instantaneously: in a gradually heating bathtub you'd be boiled to death before you knew it.
Thy only authentic ending is the one provided here: John and Mary die, John and Mary die, John and Mary die.
I would say my theme has always been paradise lost, always the lost cause, the lost leader, the lost utopia.
I think there is something about coming to a city to work that puts you in touch with it in a different way.
I started out wanting to write great poems, then wanting to discover true poems. Now, I want to be the poem.
You complain, friend Swift, of the length of my epigrams, but you yourself write nothing. Yours are shorter.
If pale beans bubble for you in a red earthenware pot, you can often decline the dinners of sumptuous hosts.
I wanted to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know, whoever I was, I was alive for a little while.
There is nothing you can see that is not a Bashoflower; there is nothing you can think that is not the moon.
I certainly believe you can write a narrative lyric or a lyrical narrative - why not a nyric or a larrative?
Others abide our question. Thou art free. We ask and ask. Thou smilest and art still, Out-topping knowledge.
Can it be I am the only Jew residing in Danville, Kentuchy, looking for matzoh in the Safeway and the A & P?
I simply adore being alone - I find it a consuming thirst - and when that thirst is slaked, then I am happy.
Many grievers experience intense yearning or longing after a death - more than they experience, say, denial.