Recent Highlights: Literature Quotes

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  • 1

    A Favorite of 5 users

    It little profits that an idle king,
    By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
    Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole
    Unequal laws unto a savage race,
    That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
    I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
    Life to the lees. All times I have enjoyed
    Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
    That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
    Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
    Vext the dim sea. I am become a name;
    For always roaming with a hungry heart
    Much have I seen and known''cities of men
    And manners, climates, councils, governments,
    Myself not least, but honored of them all,''
    And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
    Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
    I am a part of all that I have met;
    Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
    Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades
    For ever and for ever when I move.
    How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
    To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
    As though to breathe were life! Life piled on life
    Were all too little, and of one to me
    Little remains; but every hour is saved
    From that eternal silence, something more,
    A bringer of new things; and vile it were
    For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
    And this gray spirit yearning in desire
    To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
    Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
    This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
    To whom I leave the scepter and the isle,
    Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill
    This labor, by slow prudence to make mild
    A rugged people, and through soft degrees
    Subdue them to the useful and the good.
    Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere
    Of common duties, decent not to fail
    In offices of tenderness, and pay
    Meet adoration to my household gods,
    When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
    There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
    There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
    Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me,
    That ever with a frolic welcome took
    The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
    Free hearts, free foreheads''you and I are old;
    Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
    Death closes all; but something ere the end,
    Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
    Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.
    The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
    The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
    Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
    'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
    Push off, and sitting well in order smite
    The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
    To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
    Of all the western stars, until I die.
    It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
    It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
    And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
    Though much is taken, much abides; and though
    We are not now that strength which in old days
    Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,
    One equal temper of heroic hearts,
    Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
    To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

    Posted by Anonymous in Literature  ID#:630419
  • 2

    A Favorite of 2 users

    Writers are people whose words speak louder than their actions.

    Posted by Wickedgenxyz in Literature  ID#:630219
  • 3

    A Favorite of 4 users

    If you want to see the real intensions of someone give them something to beat.. rather to beat them!
    Let down your guard, take your corner and be silent.. The results of their behavior will be your echo of your heart

    Posted by BlueSunSky in Literature  ID#:629764
  • 4

    A Favorite of 12 users

    She never killed the world in her articles…….
    Only made it suffer with the words.

    Now I know why punishments are also called sentences……

    Posted by GoodHuman in Literature  ID#:629453
  • 5

    A Favorite of 2 users

    Who am I? I'm just one of the quite a few fledgling poets and writers scattered here and there across this old planet called Earth.

    Posted by Malfatti in Literature  ID#:625641
  • 6

    A Favorite of 2 users

    “The wolf rolls out red carpet, remnants of Red Riding Hood. (Le loup déroule le tapis rouge, - Ce qui reste du Chaperon Rouge)”

    Posted by GohTR in Literature  ID#:623657
  • 7

    A Favorite of 2 users

    Reading is a lot like fine dining... Some readers prefer just the meat and potatoes; I enjoy a seven-course meal.

    Posted by CarmenDeSousa in Literature  ID#:621821
  • 8

    A Favorite of 3 users

    Poets are murderers. They kill death.

    Posted by POETIME in Literature  ID#:619675
  • 9

    A Favorite of 3 users

    7 notes for any writing instrument (writer); Anger, Disappointment, Disgust, Fear, Happiness, Sadness & Surprise. ADDFHSS. Joseph Cubby

    Posted by Exitraining in Literature  ID#:617334
  • 10

    A Favorite of 3 users

    There comes a time in every person's life when he thinks he has gathered enough experience to write a book for posterity, but few manage to do it properly.

    Posted by boghos_L.artinian in Literature  ID#:614363
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