Thomas Hood Quotes
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My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread.
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While the steeples are loud in their joy, To the tune of the bells' ring-a-ding, Let us chime in a peal, one and all, For we all should be able to sing Hullah baloo.
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Fuss is the froth of business.
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Bells are musics laughter.
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Well for the drones of the social hive that there are bees of an industrious turn, willing, for an infinitesimal share of the honey, to undertake the labor of its fabrication.
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I remember, I remember The roses, red and white, The violets, and the lily-cups, Those flowers made of light! The lilacs, where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburmum on his birthday,- The tree is living yet.
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We watch'd her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro.
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I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky; It was a childish ignorance, But now 't is little joy To know I'm farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy.
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A name, it has more than nominal worth, And belongs to good or bad luck at birth
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Pity it is to slay the meanest thing.
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I love thee - I love thee, 'Tis all that I can say, It is my vision in the night, My dreaming in the day.
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Apothegms form a short cut to much knowledge.
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The moon, the moon, so silver and cold, Her fickle temper has oft been told, Now shade--now bright and sunny-- But of all the lunar things that change, The one that shows most fickle and strange, And takes the most eccentric range, Is the moon--so called--of honey!
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The biggest bore of all is he who is overflowing with congratulations
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With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread.
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Boughs are daily rifled By the gusty thieves, And the book of Nature Getteth short of leaves.
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O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head.
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I resolved that, like the sun, as long as my day lasted, I would look on the bright side of everything.
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Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams, Unnatural and full of contradictions; Yet others of our most romantic schemes, Are something more than fictions.
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Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves.
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A certain portion of the human race has certainly a taste for being diddled.
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It was not in the winter Our loving lot was cast! It was the time of roses, We plucked them as we passed!
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Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go Over those hoary crests, divinely led! Art thou that huntress of the silver bow Fabled of old? Or rather dost thou tread Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below, Like the wild chamois from her Alpine snow, Where hunters never climbed--secure from dread?
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Some minds improve by travel, others, rather, resemble copper wire, or brass, which get the narrower by going farther.