John Clare Quotes
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The ivyed oaks dark shadow fallsOft picking up with wondering gazeSome little thing of other daysSaved from the wreck of time.
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Throw not my words away, as many do;They're gold in value, though they're cheap to you.
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I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,My friends forsake me like a memory lost:I am the self-consumer of my woes,They rise and vanish in oblivious host,Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost:And yet I am, and live with shadows tost
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The best way to avoid a bad action is by doing a good one, for there is no difficulty in the world like that of trying to do nothing.
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Fashion is her (Popularity) favourite disciple.
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In politics and politicians' liesThe modern farmer waxes wondrous wise;
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O how I feel, just as I pluck the flowerAnd stick it to my breast - words can't reveal;But there are souls that in this lovely hourKnow all I mean, and feel whate'er I feel.
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Superstition lives longer than books, it is engraved on the human mind 'til it becomes a part of its existence.
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I love to see the old heath's withered brakeMingle its crimpled leaves with furze and ling,While the old heron from the lonely lakeStarts slow and flaps its melancholy wing
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When trouble haunts me, need I sigh? No, rather smile away despair;
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And what is Life? - An hour-glass on the run,
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This world has suns, but they are overcast;This world has sweets, but they're of ling'ring bloom;Life still expects, and empty falls at last;Warm Hope on tiptoe drops into the tomb.
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Arts may ply fantastic anatomy but nature is always herself in her wildest moods of extravagence.
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If life had a second edition, how I would correct the proofs.
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And don't despise your betters cause they're old.
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I am gennerally understood tho I do not use that awkward squad of pointings called commas colons semicolons etc.
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Still, I have been no one's enemy but my own. My easy nature, either in drinking or anything else, was always ready to submit to persuasions of profligate companions, who often led me into snares.
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My fears are agitated to an extreme degree and the dread of death involves me in a stupor of chilling indisposition.
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I hid my love when young till ICouldn't bear the buzzing of a fly;I hid my love to my despiteTill I could not bear to look at light:I dare not gaze upon her faceBut left her memory in each place;Where eer I saw a wild flower lieI kissed and bade my love good bye.
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He could not die when trees were green, for he loved the time too well.
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I hid my love in field and townTill een the breeze would knock me down,The bees seemed singing ballads oer,The fly's bass turned a lion's roar;And even silence found a tongue,To haunt me all the summer long;The riddle nature could not proveWas nothing else but secret love.
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To-morrow comes, true copy of to-day,And empty shadow of what is to be;Yet cheated Hope on future still depends,And ends but only when our being ends.
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Popularity is a hasty and busy talker, she catches hold of topics and offers them to fame without giving herself time to reflect whether they are true or false.
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I had a variety of minds about me and all of them unsettled.