Alfred Lord Tennyson Quotes

That which we are, we are.

Happy days roll onward leading up to golden years.

Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.

This world was once a fluid haze of light, Till toward the centre set the starry tides, And eddied into suns, that wheeling cast The planets: then the monster, then the man.

Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was love.

That which we are, we are, and if we are ever to be any better, now is the time to begin.

Read my little fable: He that runs may read. Most can raise the flowers now, For all have got the seed.

All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.

How dull it is to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished, not to shine in use! As though to breathe were life.

A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier times.

Nor is he the wisest man who never proved himself a fool.

Wearing all that weight Of learning lightly like a flower.

Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt, And cling to faith beyond the forms of faith; She reels not at the storm of warring words; She brightens at the clash of "Yes" and "No"; She sees the best that glimmers through the worst; She feels the sun is hid for the night; She spies the summer through the winter bud; She tastes the fruit before the blossom falls; She hears the lark within the songless egg; She finds the fountain where they wailed "Mirage!"

'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

And so the Word had breath, and wrought With human hands the creed of creeds In loveliness of perfect deeds, More strong than all poetic thoughts; Which he may read that binds the sheaf, Or builds the house, or digs the grave, And those wild eyes that watch the waves In roarings round the coral reef.

Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace;Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,While the stars burn, the moons increase,And the great ages onward roll. Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet. Nothing comes to thee new or strange. Sleep full of rest from head to feet;Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.

All precious things, discover'd late, To those that seek them issue forth, For love in sequel works with fate, And draws the veil from hidden worth.

O last regret, regret can die!

He that wrongs his friend, wrongs himself more.

the shell must break before the bird can fly.

Gone - flitted away, Taken the stars from the night and the sun From the day! Gone, and a cloud in my heart.

The last great Englishman is low.

The words 'far, far away' had always a strange charm.

And o'er the hills, and far away Beyond their utmost purple rim, Beyond the night, across the day, Thro' all the world she follow'd him.

From yon blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.

Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, oh sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.

That loss is common would not make My own less bitter, rather more: Too common! Never morning wore To evening, but some heart did break.

And out of darkness came the hands that reach through nature, moulding men.

A pasty costly-made, Where quail and pigeon, lark and leveret lay, Like fossils of the rock, with golden yolks Imbedded and injellied.

A smile abroad is often a scowl at home.

We cannot be kind to each other here for even an hour. We whisper, and hint, and chuckle and grin at our brother's shame; however you take it we men are a little breed.

The vow that binds too strictly snaps itself.

Better not be at all than not be noble.

And wheresoe'er thou move, good luck Shall fling her old shoe after.

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; To-morrow'll be the happiest time of all the glad New Year,- Of all the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day; For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be queen o' the May.

And blessings on the falling out That all the more endears, When we fall out with those we love And kiss again with tears!

I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel For words, like nature, half reveal And half conceal the soul within. But, for the unquiet heart and brain A use measured language lie's The sad mechanic exercise Like dull narcotic's, numbing pain In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er Like coarsest clothes against the cold But large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more.

All Life needs for life is possible to will.

The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.

The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind Hath fouled me.

A beam in darkness: let it grow.

The wind sounds like a silver wire, And from beyond the noon a fire Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher The skies stoop down in their desire; And, isled in sudden seas of light, My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight, Bursts into blossom in his sight.

I found Him in the shining of the stars.

Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens? If all the world were falcons, what of that? The wonder of the eagle were the less, But he not less the eagle.

Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of: Wherefore, let they voice, Rise like a fountain for me night and day.

Man is the hunter; women are the game; those sleek and shining creatures of the chase. We hunt them for the beauty of their skins; they love us for it, and we ride them down.

What rights are those that dare not resist for them?

God made thee good as thou art beautiful.