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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No rock so hard but that a little wave may beat admission in a thousand years.
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Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come, whispering, 'It will be happier.'
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The woods are hush'd, their music is no more; The leaf is dead, the yearning past away; New leaf, new life--the days of frost are o'er; New life, new love, to suit the newer day: New loves are sweet as those that went before: Free love--free field--we love but while we may.
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The quiet sense of something lost.
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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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I am a part of all that I have met.
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By blood a king, in heart a clown.
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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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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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I heard no longer The snowy-banded, dilettante, Delicate-handed priest intone.
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Man is the hunter; women are the game; those sleek and shining creatures of the chase. We hunt them for the beauty of their skins; they love us for it, and we ride them down.
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She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces through the room.
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Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of: Wherefore, let they voice, Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
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The woman is so hard Upon the woman.
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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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Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true.
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But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.
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I have led her home, my love, my only friend. There is none like her, none, And never yet so warmly ran my blood, And sweetly, on and on Calming itself to the long-wished for end, Full to the banks, close on the prom- ised good.
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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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Authority forgets a dying king.
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Life is not as idle ore, But iron dug from central gloom, And heated hot with burning fears, And dipt in baths of hissing tears, And batter'd with the shocks of doom, To shape and use.
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I can't sleep without knowing there's hope. Half the night I waste in sighs. In a wakeful doze I sorrow. For the hands, for the lips... the eyes. For the meeting of tomorrow.
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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.