Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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There lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds.
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She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room.
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The time draws near the birth of Christ; The moon is hid; the night is still; The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist.
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In the long years liker they must grow; The man be more of woman, she of man.
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He that shuts love out, in turn shall be Shut out from love, and on her threshold lie, Howling in outer darkness.
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Ah, when shall all men's good Be each man's rule, and universal peace Lie like a shaft of light across the land, And like a lane of beams athwart the sea, Thro' all the circle of the golden year?
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No man ever got very high by pulling other people down. The intelligent merchant does not knock his competitors. The sensible worker does not knock those who work with him. Don't knock your friends. Don't knock your enemies. Don't knock yourself.
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A lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies.
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For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be.
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Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt, And cling to faith beyond the forms of faith; She reels not at the storm of warring words; She brightens at the clash of "Yes" and "No"; She sees the best that glimmers through the worst; She feels the sun is hid for the night; She spies the summer through the winter bud; She tastes the fruit before the blossom falls; She hears the lark within the songless egg; She finds the fountain where they wailed "Mirage!"
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Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.
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Sin is too stupid to see beyond itself.
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Lo! sweeten'd with the summer light, The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow, Drops in a silent autumn night. All its allotted length of days The flower ripens in its place, Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil.
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I cannot rest from travel; I will drink Life to the lees.
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Every man at time of Death, Would fain set forth some saying that may live After his death and better humankind; For death gives life's last word a power to live, And, lie the stone-cut epitaph, remain After the vanished voice, and speak to men.
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A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier times.
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I heard no longer The snowy-banded, dilettante, Delicate-handed priest intone.
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For every worm beneath the moon Draws different threads, and late and soon Spins, toiling out his own cocoon.
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Too much wit makes the world rotten.
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Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell; That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before, But vaster.
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Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was love.
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Authority forgets a dying king.
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God gives us love! Something to love He lends us; but when love is grown To ripeness, that on which it throve Falls off, and love is left alone: This is the curse of time.
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She is coming, my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Were it earth in an earthly bed; My dust would hear her and beat, Had I lain for a century dead; Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red.