Quotes to inspire and reflect

“The time has come,” the Walrus said, “To talk of many things: Of shoes—and ships—and sealing wax— Of cabbages—and kings— And why the sea is boiling hot— And whether pigs have wings.”

And thick and fast they came at last, And more, and more, and more— All hopping through the frothy waves, And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter Were walking close at hand: They wept like anything to see Such quantities of sand: “If this were only cleared away,” They said, “it would be grand!” “If seven maids with seven mops Swept it for half a year, Do you suppose,” the Walrus said, “That they could get it clear?” “I doubt it,” said the Carpenter, And shed a bitter tear.

“O Oysters, come and walk with us!” The Walrus did beseech. “A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, Along the briny beach.”

And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came! One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back. “And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!” He chortled in his joy.

The sun was shining on the sea, Shining with all his might: He did his very best to make The billows smooth and bright— And this was odd, because it was The middle of the night.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!

Child of the pure, unclouded brow And dreaming eyes of wonder! Though time be fleet and I and thou Are half a life asunder, Thy loving smile will surely hail The love-gift of a fairy tale.

Soup of the evening, beautiful soup!

The further off from England the nearer is to France— Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.

Will you, won’t you, will you, won’t you, will you join the dance?

“Will you walk a little faster?” said a whiting to a snail, “There’s a porpoise close behind us, and he’s treading on my tail.”

“I have answered three questions, and that is enough,” Said his father. “Don’t give yourself airs! Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? Be off, or I’ll kick you downstairs!”

Speak roughly to your little boy, And beat him when he sneezes: He only does it to annoy, Because he knows it teases.

“In my youth,” said his father, “I took to the law, And argued each case with my wife; And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw, Has lasted the rest of my life.”

“You are old, Father William,” the young man said, “And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head— Do you think, at your age, it is right?” 2

How doth the little crocodile Improve his shining tail, And pour the waters of the Nile On every golden scale! 1 How cheerfully he seems to grin, How neatly spreads his claws, And welcomes little fishes in With gently smiling jaws!

“I’ll be judge, I’ll be jury,” said cunning old Fury; “I’ll try the whole cause, and condemn you to death.”

Genius does what it must, and talent does what it can.

All in the golden afternoon Full leisurely we glide, For both our oars with little skill By little arms are plied While little hands make vain pretense Our wanderings to guide.

Sleeping at last, the trouble and turmoil over, Sleeping at last, the struggle and horror past, Cold and white, out of sight of friend and of lover, Sleeping at last.

God strengthen me to bear myself; That heaviest weight of all to bear, Inalienable weight of care.

Oh roses for the flush of youth, And laurel for the perfect prime; But pluck an ivy branch for me Grown old before my time.

Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I: But when the trees bow down their heads, The wind is passing by.

Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.

In the bleak midwinter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter, Long ago.

Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land.

When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree. Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember And if thou wilt, forget.

Is come, my love is come to me.

My heart is like a singing bird.

That Love is all there is, Is all we know of Love; It is enough, the freight should be Proportioned to the groove.

Elysium is as far as to The very nearest Room If in that Room a Friend await Felicity or Doom— What Fortitude the Soul contains, That it can so endure The accent of a coming Foot— The opening of a Door—

The only secret people keep Is Immortality.

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, One clover, and a bee, And revery. The revery alone will do, If bees are few.

That it will never come again Is what makes life so sweet.

My life closed twice before its close— It yet remains to see If Immortality unveil A third event to me So huge, so hopeless to conceive As these that twice befell. Parting is all we know of heaven, And all we need of hell.

I took one Draught of Life— I’ll tell you what I paid— Precisely an existence— The market price, they said. They weighed me, Dust by Dust— They balanced Film with Film, Then handed me my Being’s worth— A single Dram of Heaven!

Eden is that old-fashioned House We dwell in every day Without suspecting our abode Until we drive away.

The Pedigree of Honey Does not concern the Bee— A Clover, any time, to him, Is Aristocracy.

A Drunkard cannot meet a Cork Without a Revery— And so encountering a Fly This January Day Jamaicas of Remembrance stir That send me reeling in.

Love’s stricken “why” Is all that love can speak— Built of but just a syllable The hugest hearts that break.

Bees are Black, with Gilt Surcingles— Buccaneers of Buzz.

Not with a Club, the Heart is broken Nor with a Stone— A Whip so small you could not see it I’ve known To lash the Magic Creature Till it fell.

A little Madness in the Spring Is wholesome even for the King.

I thought that nature was enough Till Human nature came But that the other did absorb As Parallax a Flame—

Until the Desert knows That Water grows His Sands suffice But let him once suspect That Caspian Fact Sahara dies.

A word is dead When it is said, Some say. I say it just Begins to live That day.

There is no Frigate like a Book To take us Lands away Nor any Coursers like a Page Of prancing Poetry— This Traverse may the poorest take Without oppress of Toll— How frugal is the Chariot That bears the Human Soul!