Quotes

The day in its hotness, The strife with the palm; The night in her silence, The stars in their calm.

You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. 1

Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan Of tan with henna hackles, halt!

There are a sort of men whose visages Do cream and mantle like a standing pond.

Better one suffer, than a nation grieve.

Yes, in the sea of life enisled, With echoing straits between us thrown, Dotting the shoreless watery wild, We mortal millions live alone .

The light that lies In woman’s eyes, Has been my heart’s undoing.

I am Sir Oracle, And when I ope my lips let no dog bark!

Now good digestion wait on appetite, And health on both!

But often in the world’s most crowded streets, But often, in the din of strife, There rises an unspeakable desire After the knowledge of our buried life.

And folly’s all they’ve taught me.

Damned universal cock, as if the sun Was blackamoor to bear your blazing tail.

I do know of these, That therefore only are reputed wise For saying nothing.

Who think too little, and who talk too much.

And long we try in vain to speak and act Our hidden self, and what we say and do Is eloquent, is well—but ’tis not true!

Oft in the stilly night, Ere Slumber’s chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me; The words of love then spoken; The cheerful hearts now broken.

Fish not, with this melancholy bait, For this fool-gudgeon, this opinion.

Thou canst not say I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me.

Go, for they call you, Shepherd, from the hill.

Some banquet hall deserted, And all but he departed.

I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that hill.

In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft, I shot his fellow of the selfsame flight The selfsame way with more advised watch, To find the other forth, and by adventuring both, I oft found both.

A man so various that he seem’d to be Not one, but all mankind’s epitome: Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong; Was everything by starts, and nothing long: But, in the course of one revolving moon, Was chemist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon.

Thou waitest for the spark from heaven: and we, Light half-believers of our casual creeds, Who never deeply felt, nor clearly willed… Who hesitate and falter life away, And lose tomorrow the ground won today— Ah! do not we, wanderer! await it too?

What though youth gave love and roses, Age still leaves us friends and wine.

How like a fawning publican he looks! I hate him for he is a Christian.

The air-drawn dagger.