Quotes to inspire and reflect

Yes; quaint and curious war is!

What of the faith and fire within us

I am the family face;

If way to the Better there be, it exacts a full look at the worst.

There trembled through

The Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything.

After two thousand years of mass

In a solitude of the sea

Happiness was but the occasional episode in a general drama of pain.

‘Justice’ was done, and the President of the Immortals (in Aeschylean phrase) had ended his sport with Tess.

Dialect words—those terrible marks of the beast to the truly genteel.

Done because we are too menny.

War makes rattling good history; but Peace is poor reading.

She who must be obeyed.

The Revolution is made by man, but man must forge his revolutionary spirit from day to day.

Out of the dark we came, into the dark we go … Life is nothing. Life is all. It is the hand with which we hold off death. It is the glow-worm that shines in the night-time and is black in the morning; it is the white breath of the oxen in winter; it is the little shadow that runs across the grass and loses itself at sunset.

Innocence always calls mutely for protection, when we would be so much wiser to guard ourselves against it: innocence is like a dumb leper who has lost his bell, wandering the world meaning no harm.

I never knew a man who had better motives for all the trouble he caused.

What do we ever get nowadays from reading to equal the excitement and the revelation in those first fourteen years?

There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in.

In human relations kindness and lies are worth a thousand truths.

Catholics and Communists have committed great crimes, but at least they have not stood aside, like an established society, and been indifferent. I would rather have blood on my hands than water like Pilate.

Not all that tempts your wand’ring eyes

He saw; but blasted with excess of light,

Where ignorance is bliss,

What female heart can gold despise?

To each his suff’rings, all are men,

Alas, regardless of their doom,

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth

Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife,

Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne,

Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene,

Can storied urn or animated bust

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree’s shade,

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes;

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,

Men are from Mars, women are from Venus.

Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!

If there’s no money in poetry, neither is there poetry in money.

Goodbye to all that.

Truth-loving Persians do not dwell upon

Love is a universal migraine.

There’s a cool web of language winds us in,

Never open the door to the least of evils, for many other, greater ones lurk outside.

The proletarian state must bring up thousands of excellent ‘mechanics of culture’, ‘engineers of the soul’.

Pictures are for entertainment, messages should be delivered by Western Union.