Arthur Hugh Clough Quotes
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Grace is given of god, but knowledge is bought in the market.
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For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main. And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light; In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly! But westward, look, the land is bright!
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Allah isgreat, no doubt, and Juxtaposition his prophet.
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I watched them from the window, thy children at their play, And I thought of all my own dear friends, who were far, oh, far away, And childish loves, and childish cares, and a child's own buoyant gladness Came gushing back again to me with a soft and solemn sadness; And feelings frozen up full long, and thoughts of long ago, Seemed to be thawing at my heart with a warm and sudden flow.
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It fortifies my soul to know That, though I perish, Truth is so: That, howsoe'er I stray and range, Whate'er I do, Thou dost not change. I steadier step when I recall That, if I slip Thou dost not fall.
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I sit at my table en grand seigneur , And when I have done, throw a crust to the poor; Not only the pleasure, one's self, of good living, But also the pleasure of now and then giving. So pleasant it is to have money, heigh ho! So pleasant it is to have money.
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There is no God', the wicked saith, 'And truly it's a blessing, For what he might have done with us It's better only guessing.
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A world where nothing is had for nothing.
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When panting sighs the bosom fill, And hands by chance united thrill At once with one delicious pain The pulses and the nerves of twain; When eyes that erst could meet with ease, Do seek, yet, seeking, shyly shun Ecstatic conscious unison, - The sure beginnings, say, be these Prelusive to the strain of love Which angels sing in heaven above?
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Whither depart the souls of the brave that die in the battle, Die in the lost, lost fight, for the cause that perishes with them?
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Truth is a golden thread, seen here and there In small bright specks upon the visible side Of our strange being's party-coloured web.
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What voice did on my spirit fall, Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost? 'Tis better to have fought and lost That never to have fought at all!
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Action will furnish belief,-but will that belief be the true one? This is the point, you know.
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Afloat.We move: Delicious! Ah, What else is like the gondola?
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Dance on, dance on, we see, we see Youth goes, alack, and with it glee, A boy the old man ne'er can be; Maternal thirty scarce can find The sweet sixteen long left behind.
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Thou shalt not kill; but needst not strive officiously to keep alive.
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Thought may well be ever ranging, And opinion ever changing, Task-work be, though ill begun, Dealt with by experience better; By the law and by the letter Duty done is duty done Do it, Time is on the wing!
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Old things need not be therefore true, O brother men, nor yet the new; Ah! still awhile the old thought retain, And yet consider it again!
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Tis possible, young sir, that some excess Mars youthful judgment and old men's no less; Yet we must take our counsel as we may For (flying years this lesson still convey), 'Tis worst unwisdom to be overwise, And not to use, but still correct one's eyes.
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The highest political buzz word is not liberty, equality, fraternity or solidarity; it is service.
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As ships becalmed at eve, that lay With canvas drooping, side by side, Two towers of sail, at dawn of day Are scarce, long leagues apart, descried.
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And almost everyone when age, disease, or sorrows strike him, inclines to think there is a God, or something very like him.
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Loving if the answering breast Seem not to be thus possessed, Still in hoping have a care; If it do, beware, beware! But if in yourself you find it, Above all things mind it, mind it!
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Each for himself is still the rule We learn it when we go to school The devil take the hindmost, O!
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Be but faithful, that is all; Go right on, and close behind thee There shall follow still and find thee Help, sure help.
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No graven images may be Worshipped, except the currency.
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Thou shalt not steal; an empty feat, When it's so lucrative to cheat.
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Rome, believe me, my friend, is like its own Monte Testaceo, Merelya marvellous mass of broken and castaway wine-pots.
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In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, but westward, look, the land is bright.
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Thou shalt have one God only: who Would be at the expense of two?
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