Quotes from John Masefield

The corn that makes the holy bread By which the soul of man is fed, The holy bread, the food unpriced, Thy everlasting mercy, Christ.

Most roads lead men homewards, My road leads me forth

Love is a flame to burn out human wills, Love is a flame to set the will on fire, Love is a flame to cheat men into mire.

But he has gone, A nation's memory and veneration, Among the radiant, ever venturing on, Somewhere, with morning, as such spirits will.

Since the printing press came into being, poetry has ceased to be the delight of the whole community of man; it has become the amusement and delight of the few.

An art in which the artist by means of rhythm and great sincerity can convey to others the sentiment which he feels about life.

God dropped a spark down into everyone, And if we find and fan it to a blaze, It'll spring up and glow, like--like the sun, And light the wandering out of stony ways.

The Lord who gave us Earth and Heaven Takes that as thanks for all He's given. The book he lent is given back All blotted red and smutted black.

The days that make us happy make us wise

I must go down to the sea...to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by......

God warms his hands at man's heart when he prays.

I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky; and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.

To most of us the future seems unsure. But then it always has been; and we who have seen great changes must have great hopes.

Life is a long headache in a noisy street.

Success is the brand on the brow of the man who aimed too low.

It may be that we cease; we cannot tell. Even if we cease, life is a miracle.

In this life he laughs longest who laughs last.

It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries.

Life's battle is a conquest for the strong; The meaning shows in the defeated thing.

Life, a beauty chased by tragic laughter.

All ye that pass by! While we least think it he prepares his Mate. Mate, and the King's pawn played, it never ceases, Though all the earth is dust of taken pieces.

When Life knocks at the door no one can wait, When Death makes his arrest we have to go.

It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tideIs a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied.