Quotes from Howard Pyle

An I must drink sour ale, I must, but never have I yielded me to man before, and that without wound or mark upon my body. Nor, when I bethink me, will I yield now.

Talk about life - but in your own way.

All the students have shown more advance in two months of summer study than they have in a year of ordinary instruction, largely due to their free and wholesome life in the open air.

So passed the seasons then, so they pass now, and so they will pass in time to come, while we come and go like leaves of the tree that fall and are soon forgotten.

Will you come with me, sweet Reader? I thank you. Give me your hand.

He who jumps for the moon and gets it not leaps higher than he who stoops for a penny in the mud.

So passed the seasons then, so they pass now, and so they will pass in time to come, while we come and go like leaves of the tree that fall and are soon forgotten.

You who so plod amid serious things that you feel it shame to give yourself up even for a few short moments to mirth and joyousness in the land of Fancy; you who think that life hath not to do with innocent laughter that can harm no one; these pages are not for you.

What is done is done; and the cracked egg cannot be cured.

It doth make a man better,' quoth Robin Hood, 'to bear of those noble men so long ago. When one doth list to such tales, his soul doth say, 'put by thy poor little likings and seek to do likewise.' Truly, one may not do as nobly one's self, but in the striving one is better...

H)ope, be it never so faint, bringeth a gleam into darkness, like a little rushlight that costeth but a groat.

The stories of childhood leave an indelible impression, and their author always has a niche in the temple of memory from which the image is never cast out to be thrown on the rubbish heap of things that are outgrown and outlived.

An I must drink sour ale, I must, but never have I yielded to a man before, and that without would or mark upon my body. Nor, when I bethink me, will I yield now.

It may be, said he, that the wisdom of little children flies higher than our heavy wits can follow.

When the flood cometh it sweepeth away grain as well as chaff.

Yea, he who is a true king of men, will not say to himself, 'Lo! I am worthy to be crowned with laurels;' but rather will he say to himself, 'What more is there that I may do to make the world the better because of my endeavors?

Let us e'er be merry while we may, for man is but dust, and he hath but a span to live here till the worm getteth him, as our good gossip Swanthold sayeth; so let life be merry while it lasts, say I.

Lo, God! I am Thy handiwork. I have sinned and have done great evil, yet I am still Thy handiwork, who hath made me what I am. So, though I may not undo that which I have done, yet I may, with Thy aid, do better hereafter than I have done heretofore.

Tis the land of Fancy, and is of that pleasant kind that, when you tire of it,—whisk!—you clap the leaves of this book together and 'tis gone, and you are ready for every-day life, with no harm done.

You who so plod amid serious things that you feel it shame to give yourself up even for a few short moments to mirth and joyousness in the land of Fancy; you who think that life hath nought to do with innocent laughter that can harm no one; these pages are not for you

Gaffer Swanthold speaks truth when he saith, 'Better a crust with content than honey with a sour heart.

For ages past the Genius of Literature and the Genius of Art have walked together hand in hand. For the Goddess of letters is blind, and only she of Art can lend her sight.

For any man may be a king in that life in which he is placed if so be he may draw forth the sword of success from out of the iron of circumstance. Where fore when your time of assay cometh, I do hope it may be with you as it was with Arthur that day, and that ye too may achieve success with entire satisfaction unto yourself and to your great glory and perfect happiness.

IN MERRY ENGLAND in the time of old, when good King Henry the Second ruled the land, there lived within the green glades of Sherwood Forest, near Nottingham Town, a famous outlaw whose name was Robin Hood.