Quotes to inspire and reflect

The years like great black oxen tread the world, And God the herdsman goads them on behind, And I am broken by their passing feet.

She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs; But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.

Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree; But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.

The woods of Arcady are dead, And over is their antique joy; Of old the world on dreaming fed; Gray Truth is now her painted toy.

I could not look on Death, which being known, Men led me to him, blindfold and alone.

What stands if Freedom fall? Who dies if England live?

The female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God who made him sees That half a proper gardener’s work is done upon his knees.

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch.

Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same.

Of all the trees that grow so fair, Old England to adorn, Greater are none beneath the Sun, Than oak, and ash, and thorn.

Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up and down again! There’s no discharge in the war!

Who hath desired the sea?—the sight of salt water unbounded.

Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges— Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for you. Go!

I keep six honest serving men (They taught me all I knew); Their names are What and Why and When And How and Where and Who.

The flanneled fools at the wicket or the muddied oafs at the goals.

For frantic boast and foolish word— Thy mercy on Thy People, Lord!

Take up the White Man’s burden, 4 Send forth the best ye breed— Go, bind your sons to exile To serve your captives’ need.

Lesser breeds without the Law.

Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!

God of our fathers, known of old, Lord of our far-flung battle line, Beneath whose awful Hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine— Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget—lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies; The captains and the kings depart.

A fool there was and he made his prayer (Even as you and I!) To a rag and a bone and a hank of hair (We called her the woman who did not care) But the fool he called her his lady fair— (Even as you and I!)

Daughter am I in my mother’s house; But mistress in my own.

I’ve taken my fun where I’ve found it.

For the Colonel’s Lady an’ Judy O’Grady Are sisters under their skins!

They change their skies above them, But not their hearts that roam.

The Liner she’s a lady, an’ she never looks nor ’eeds— The Man-o’-War’s ’er ’usband, an’ ’e gives ’er all she needs, But, oh, the little cargo boats that sail the wet seas roun’, They’re just the same as you an’ me a-plyin’ up and down!

When Pack meets with Pack in the Jungle, and neither will go from the trail, Lie down till the leaders have spoken—it may be fair words shall prevail.

Now these are the Laws of the Jungle, and many and mighty are they; But the head and the hoof of the Law and the haunch and the hump is—Obey!

Brother, thy tail hangs down behind.

Now this is the Law of the Jungle—as old and as true as the sky; And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die.

Back to the Army again, sergeant, Back to the Army again. Out o’ the cold an’ the rain.

When you’re wounded and left on Afghanistan’s plains, And the women come out to cut up what remains, Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains An’ go to your Gawd like a soldier.

There are nine and sixty ways of constructing tribal lays, And every single one of them is right.

There be triple ways to take, of the eagle or the snake, Or the way of a man with a maid; But the sweetest way to me is a ship’s upon the sea In the heel of the Northeast Trade.

There’s a legion that never was ’listed, That carries no colors or crest.

The sin ye do by two and two ye must pay for one by one.

We have done with Hope and Honor, we are lost to Love and Truth, We are dropping down the ladder rung by rung; And the measure of our torment is the measure of our youth. God help us, for we knew the worst too young!

And what should they know of England who only England know?

To the legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the damned.

We’re poor little lambs who’ve lost our way, Baa! Baa! Baa! We’re little black sheep who’ve gone astray, Baa—aa—aa! Gentlemen rankers out on the spree, Damned from here to Eternity, God ha’ mercy on such as we, Baa! Yah! Baa!

Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst, Where there aren’t no Ten Commandments, an’ a man can raise a thirst.

The Devil whispered behind the leaves, “It’s pretty, but is it Art?”

By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin’ eastward to the sea, There’s a Burma girl a-settin’, and I know she thinks o’ me; For the wind is in the palm trees, and the temple bells they say: “Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!”

On the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin’ fishes play, An’ the dawn comes up like thunder outer China ’crost the Bay!