Quotes to inspire and reflect

Sleep not, dream not; this bright day Will not, cannot last for aye; Bliss like thine is bought by years Dark with torment and with tears.

 

I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar.

 

Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark.

 

Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home.

 

I am Merlin Who follow the Gleam.

 

All the charm of all the Muses often flowering in a lonely word.

 

Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt.

 

Doänt thou marry for munny, but goä wheer munny is!

 

Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies, I hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower—but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is.

 

Dosn’t thou ’ear my ’erse’s legs, as they canters awaäy? Proputty, proputty, proputty—that’s what I ’ears ’em saäy.

 

He said likewise That a lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies, 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.

 

The worst is yet to come.

 

Cast all your cares on God; that anchor holds.

 

More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

 

From the great deep to the great deep he goes.

 

So all day long the noise of battle roll’d Among the mountains by the winter sea.

 

And slowly answer’d Arthur from the barge: The old order changeth, yielding place to new; And God fulfills himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

 

The days will grow to weeks, the weeks to months, The months will add themselves and make the years, The years will roll into the centuries, And mine will ever be a name of scorn.

 

I found Him in the shining of the stars, I mark’d Him in the flowering of His fields, But in His ways with men I find Him not.

 

But, friend, to me He is all fault who hath no fault at all. For who loves me must have a touch of earth.

 

He makes no friend who never made a foe.

 

For man is man and master of his fate.

 

Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable, Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat.

 

Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.

 

Live pure, speak true, right wrong, follow the King— Else, wherefore born?

 

Man’s word is God in man.

 

Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful.

 

Here at the quiet limit of the world.

 

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapors weep their burthen to the ground, Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath, And after many a summer dies the swan.

 

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 earthy 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.

 

Ah Christ, that it were possible For one short hour to see The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be.

 

All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, bassoon; All night has the casement jessamine stirr’d To the dancers dancing in tune; Till a silence fell with the waking bird, And a hush with the setting moon.

 

Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown, Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone.

 

And ah for a man to arise in me, That the man I am may cease to be!

 

Gorgonized me from head to foot, With a stony British stare.

 

For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.

 

Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null, Dead perfection, no more.

 

Into the jaws of death, Into the mouth of hell Rode the six hundred.

 

I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley.

 

Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die.

 

Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volley’d and thunder’d.

 

“Forward, the Light Brigade!” Was there a man dismay’d?

 

Someone had blundered.

 

Speak no more of his renown. Lay your earthly fancies down, And in the vast cathedral leave him. God accept him, Christ receive him.

 

Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of death Rode the six hundred.

 

The last great Englishman is low.

 

O iron nerve to true occasion true, O fall’n at length, that tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.

 

Bury the Great Duke With an empire’s lamentation.