Quotes
Quotes - Gray
They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.
Blasted with excess of light.
Yet ah! why should they know their fate?Since sorrow never comes too late,And happiness too swiftly flies.Thought would destroy their paradise.No more; where ignorance is bliss,'Tis folly to be wise. - Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College.
Just as women are afraid of receiving, men are afraid of giving.
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind.
Grim-visaged, comfortless despair.
We have no problems, only situations. Not all problems have solutions, but all situations have outcomes.
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear.
The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are open paradise.
Scatter plenty o'er a smiling land.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send; He gave to misery (all he had) a tear, He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.
As to posterity, I may ask (with somebody whom I have forgot) what has it ever done to oblige me?
Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife.
When iron scourge, and tort'ring hour The bad affright, afflict the best.
Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind.
While bright-eyed science watches round.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife.
Since sorrow never comes too late And happiness too swiftly flies.
Lo! where the rosy bosom'd Hours Fair Venus' train appear, Disclose the long-expecting flowers, And wake the purple year.
To each his suff'rings; all are men, Condemn'd alike to groan; The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. Yet ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise.
In climes beyond the solar road.
The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast.
Ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.
