Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes
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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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For always roaming with a hungry heart.
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Manners are not idle, but the fruit of loyal and of noble mind.
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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 sometimes through the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two.
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The many fail: the one succeeds.
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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.
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But thy strong Hours indignant work’d their wills, And beat me down and marr’d and wasted me, And tho’ they could not end me, left me maim’d To dwell in presence of immortal youth, Immortal age beside immortal youth, And all I was, in ashes. - Tithonus
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Virtue must shape itself in deed.
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Blind and naked ignorance delivers brawling judgments, unashamed, on all things all day long.
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Courtesy wins woman all as well. As valor may, but he that closes both is perfect.
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Love's too precious to be lost, A little grain shall not be spilt.
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I am going a long way With these thou seëst-if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)- To the island-valley of Avilion, Where falls not hail or rain or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.
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O son, thou hast not true humility, The highest virtue, mother of them all; But her thou hast not know; for what is this? Thou thoughtest of thy prowess and thy sins Thou hast not lost thyself to save thyself.
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We are ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times.
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Those who depend on the merits of their ancestors may be said to search in the roots of the tree for those fruits which the branches ought to produce.
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A still small voice spake unto me, 'Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be?
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A life of nothing's nothing worth, From that first nothing ere his birth, To that last nothing under earth.
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My doom is, I love thee still. Let no man dream but that I love thee still.
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Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.
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And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers.
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Come, my friends Tis not too late to seek a newer world Push off, and sitting well in order smite The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die.
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As love, if love be perfect, casts out fear, so hate, if hate be perfect, casts out fear.
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The parting of a husband and wife is like the cleaving of a heart; one half will flutter here, one there.