Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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What's up is faith, what's down is heresy.
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Old age hath yet his honour and his toil.
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Who loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail Against her beauty? May she mix With men and prosper! Who shall fix Her pillars? Let her work prevail.
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Sweet is true love though given in vain, in vain; And sweet is death who puts an end to pain: I know not which is sweeter, no, not I. Love, art thou sweet? then bitter death must be: Love, thou art bitter; sweet is death to me. O Love, if death be sweeter, let me die. ... I fain would follow love, if that could be; I needs must follow death, who calls for me; Call and I follow, I follow! let me die.
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Where love could walk with banish'd, Hope no more.
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A truth looks freshest in the fashions of the day.
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The golden guess is morning-star to the full round of truth.
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Let observation with extended observation observe extensively.
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Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, oh sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.
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I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.
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That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright, But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.
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Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers.
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Happy days roll onward leading up to golden years.
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Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land; Ring in the Christ that is to be.
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And down I went to fetch my bride: But, Alice, you were ill at ease; This dress and that by turns you tried, Too fearful that you should not please. I loved you better for your fears, I knew you could not look but well; And dews, that would have fall'n in tears, I kiss'd away before they fell.
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O hark,O hear! how thin and clear And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
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The many fail: the one succeeds.
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I found Him in the shining of the stars.
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All things human change.
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I grow in worth, and wit, and sense, Unboding critic-pen, Or that eternal want of pence, Which vexes public men.
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We are self-uncertain creatures, and we may Yea, even when we know not, mix our spites And private hates with our defence of Heaven.
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It is unconceivable that the whole Universe was merely created for us who live in this third-rate planet of a third-rate moon.
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Blind and naked ignorance delivers brawling judgments, unashamed, on all things all day long.
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That loss is common would not make My own less bitter, rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening, but some heart did break.