Quotes from Thomas Moore

It is only through mystery and madness that the soul is revealed

And the best of all waysTo lengthen our daysIs to steal a few hours from the night, my dear.

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 gazelleTo glad me with its soft black eye,But when it came to know me well,And love me, it was sure to die.

With what a deep devotedness of woe I wept thy absence - o'er and o'er again Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain, And memory, like a drop that, night and day, Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away!

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.

Faintly as tolls the evening chime,Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.

The light that liesIn woman's eyes,Has been my heart's undoing.

Oft in the stilly night,Ere Slumber's chain has bound me,Fond Memory brings the lightOf other days around me;The smiles, the tears,Of boyhood's years,The words of love then spoken;The eyes that shoneNow dimmed and gone,The cheerful hearts now broken.

This heart, my own dear mother, bends, With love's true instinct, back to thee!

Plants that wake when others sleep. Timid jasmine buds that keep their fragrance to themselves all day, but when the sunlight dies away let the delicious secret out to every breeze that roams about.

My only booksWere woman's looks,And folly's all they've taught me.

And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.

The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone,In the ranks of death you'll find him.His father's sword he has girded on,And his wild harp slung behind him.

Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth; Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth...

But there's nothing half so sweet in lifeAs love's young dream.

True change takes place in the imagination.

Oh, breathe not his name! let it sleep in the shade,Where cold and unhonor'd his relics are laid.

'Tis the last rose of summer,Left blooming alone;All her lovely companionsAre faded and gone.

Believe me, if all those endearing young charmsWhich I gaze on so fondly today,Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms,Like fairy gifts fading away,Thou would'st still be ador'd as this moment thou art,Let thy loveliness fade as it will,And around the dear ruin each wish of my heartWould entwine itself verdantly still.

Rich and rare were the gems she wore, And a bright gold ring on her hand she bore.

Paradise itself were dimAnd joyless, if not shared with him!

Come, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish, Come at the shrine of God fervently kneel; Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish— Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.

Education is not the piling on of learning, information, data, facts, skills, or abilities - that's training or instruction - but is rather making visible what is hidden as a seed.