Quotes to inspire and reflect

The poetry of speech.

The starry Galileo, with his woes.

Italia! O Italia! thou who hast The fatal gift of beauty.

Let these describe the undescribable.

The beings of the mind are not of clay; Essentially immortal, they create And multiply in us a brighter ray And more beloved existence.

’Tis solitude should teach us how to die; It hath no flatterers; vanity can give No hollow aid; alone—man with his God must strive.

Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles.

She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean, Rising with her tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic motion, A ruler of the waters and their powers.

I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each hand.

Among them, but not of them; in a shroud Of thoughts which were not their thoughts.

Fame is the thirst of youth.

I have not loved the world, nor the world me; I have not flatter’d its rank breath, nor bow’d To its idolatries a patient knee.

I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me: and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum Of human cities torture.

To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind.

History’s purchased page to call them great.

All tenantless, save to the crannying wind.

He who ascends to mountaintops, shall find The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow; He who surpasses or subdues mankind Must look down on the hate of those below.

Millions of tongues record thee, and anew Their children’s lips shall echo them, and say— “Here, where the sword united nations drew, Our countrymen were warring on that day!” And this is much, and all which will not pass away. 4

Did ye not hear it?—No! ’twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o’er the stony street. On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.

Like to the apples on the Dead Sea’s shore, All ashes to the taste.

And Harold stands upon this place of skulls.

There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium’s capital had gather’d then Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men. A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes look’d love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell. But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Fire from the mind as vigor from the limb; And life’s enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.

What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life’s page, And be alone on earth, as I am now.

Who would be free themselves must strike the blow.

Where’er we tread ’tis haunted, holy ground.

A schoolboy’s tale, the wonder of an hour!

Gone—glimmering through the dream of things that were.

War, war is still the cry, “War even to the knife!” 3

Might shake the saintship of an anchorite. 2

Vex’d with mirth the drowsy ear of night.

Had sigh’d to many, though he loved but one.

Maid of Athens, ere we part, Give, oh give me back my heart!

Better to err with Pope, than shine with Pye.

A man must serve his time to every trade Save censure—critics all are ready-made.

With just enough of learning to misquote.

’Tis pleasant, sure, to see one’s name in print; A book’s a book, although there’s nothing in ’t.

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

I only know we loved in vain; I only feel—farewell! farewell!

The poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend.

For years fleet away with the wings of the dove.

“Friendship is Love without his wings!”

And joyless, if not shared with him!

Like Dead Sea fruits, that tempt the eye, But turn to ashes on the lips.

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

Oh! ever thus, from childhood’s hour, I’ve seen my fondest hope decay; I never loved a tree or flower, But ’twas the first to fade away. I never nurs’d a dear gazelle To glad me with its soft black eye, But when it came to know me well, And love me, it was sure to die.

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.

Some banquet hall deserted, And all but he departed.