Who saw life steadily, and saw it whole The mellow glory of the Attic stage.
The young light-hearted masters of the waves.
Resolve to be thyself and know that who finds himself, loses his misery.
France, famed in all great arts, in none supreme.
And we forget because we must and not because we will.
Home of lost causes, and forsaken beliefs, and unpopular names, and impossible loyalties
It is almost impossible to exaggerate the proneness of the human mind to take miracles as evidence, and to seek for miracles as evidence.
Waiting for the spark from heaven to fall.
It is so small a think to have enjoyed the sun, to have lived light in the spring, to have loved, to have thought, to have done.
He Chaucer lacks the high seriousness of the great classics, and therewith an important part of their virtue.
But the majestic river floated on, Out of the mist and hum of that low land, Into the frosty starlight, and there moved, Rejoicing, through the hushed Chorasmian waste, Under the solitary moon.
Oxford whispering from her towers the last enchantments of the Middle Age . . . Home of lost causes, and forsaken beliefs, and unpopular names, and impossible loyalties
But each day brings its petty dust our soon-choked souls to fill, and we forget because we must, and not because we will.
All the live murmur of a summer's day.
Poetry is simply the most beautiful, impressive, and widely effective mode of saying things.
Now the great winds shoreward blow, Now the salt tides seaward flow Now the wild white horses play, Champ and chafe and toss in the spray.
Tired of knocking at Preferment's door.
Because thou must not dream, thou need not despair.
With close-lipped Patience for our only friend, Sad Patience, too near neighbor to Despair.
Sad Patience, too near neighbour to despair.
...what thwarts us and demands of us the greatest effort is also what can teach us most.
Light half-believers of our casual creeds, who never deeply felt, nor clearly will d, whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds, whose vague resolves never have been fulfilled.
Not a having and a resting, but a growing and becoming, is the character of perfection as culture conceives it.
Creep into thy narrow bed, Creep, and let no more be said
To have the sense of creative activity is the great happiness and the great proof of being alive.
Picture Quotes to Inspire and Delight