Quotes from Alfred Lord Tennyson

Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, match'd with mine,Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine.

I come from haunts of coot and hern,I make a sudden sallyAnd sparkle out among the fern,To bicker down a valley.

Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.

Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast,And in a little while our lips are dumb.Let us alone. What is it that will last?All things are taken from us, and becomePortions and parcels of the dreadful Past.

Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs,And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns.

O iron nerve to true occasion true,O fall'n at length, that tower of strengthWhich stood four-square to all the winds that blew.

So careful of the type she seems,So careless of the single life.

One God, one law, one element,And one far-off divine event,To which the whole creation moves.

Sweet is every sound,Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet;Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the lawn,The moan of doves in immemorial elms,And murmuring of innumerable bees.

A daughter of the gods, divinely tall,And most divinely fair.

Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are seal'd:I strove against the stream and all in vain:Let the great river take me to the main:No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield;Ask me no more.

Cast all your cares on God; that anchor holds.

Nature, red in tooth and claw.

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force,Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.

'Tis only noble to be good.Kind hearts are more than coronets,And simple faith than Norman blood.

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,The vapors weep their burthen to the ground,Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath,And after many a summer dies the swan.

Half light, half shade,She stood, a sight to make an old man young.

Ah! when shall all men's goodBe each man's rule, and universal peaceLie like a shaft of light across the land,And like a lane of beams athwart the sea,Through all the circle of the golden year?

Current among men, Like coin, the tinsel clink of compliment.

In the afternoon they came unto a landIn which it seemed always afternoon.

But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honor feels.

A still small voice spake unto me,"Thou art so full of misery,Were it not better not to be?"

Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt.

For man is man and master of his fate.