Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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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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By blood a king, in heart a clown.
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The woman is so hard Upon the woman.
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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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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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There lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds.
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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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A lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies.
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I cannot rest from travel; I will drink Life to the lees.
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Sin is too stupid to see beyond itself.
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Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.
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I heard no longer The snowy-banded, dilettante, Delicate-handed priest intone.
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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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A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier times.
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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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For every worm beneath the moon Draws different threads, and late and soon Spins, toiling out his own cocoon.
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Shape your heart to front the hour, but dream not that the hours will last.
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And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan.
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Authority forgets a dying king.
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Too much wit makes the world rotten.
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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.