John Masefield Famous Quotes
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And may we find when ended is the page, Death but a tavern on our pilgrimage.
So death obscures your gentle form, So memory strives to make the darkness bright; And, in that heap of rocks, your body lies, Part of the island till the planet ends, My gentle comrade, beautiful and wise, Part of this crag this bitter surge offends, While I, who pass, a little obscure thing, War with this force, and breathe, and am its king.
In this life he laughs longest who laughs last.
And he who gives a child a treat Makes joy-bells ring in Heaven's street, And he who gives a child a home Builds palaces in Kingdom come, And she who gives a baby birth Brings Saviour Christ again to Earth.
Life is a long headache in a noisy street.
I have seen flowers come in stony places
And kind things done by men with ugly faces,
And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races,
So I trust, too.
What am I, Life? A thing of watery salt Held in cohesion by unresting cells, Which work they know not why, which never halt, Myself unwitting where their Master dwells?
Life, a beauty chased by tragic laughter.
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.
I have seen the Lady April bringing
the daffodils,
Bringing the springing grass and the
soft warm April rain.
It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries.
Poetry is a mixture of common sense, which not all have, with an uncommon sense, which very few have.
Only the road and the dawn, the sun, the wind, and the rain,
And the watch fire under stars, and sleep, and the road again.
A wind's in the heart of me, a fire's in my heels
The three foundations of judgement: Bold Design, Constant Practice, and Frequent Mistakes.
All I ask is a tall ship and a star to sail her by.
O lovely lily clean, O lily springing green, O lily bursting white, Dear lily of delight, Spring in my heart agen That I may flower to men.
The wolves are running.
Oh some are fond of Spanish wine, and some are fond of French.
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.
In the dark room where I began My mother's life made me a man. Through all the months of human birth Her beauty fed my common earth. I cannot see, nor breathe, nor stir, But through the death of some of her.
Love is a flame to set the will on fire
State are not made, nor patched; they grow;
Grow slow through centuries of pain,
And grow correctly in the main;
But only grow by certain laws,
Of certain bits in certain jaws.
From '41 to '51I was my folk's contrary son;I bit my father's hand right throughAnd broke my mother's heart in two.
Success is the brand on the brow of the man who aimed too low.
I hold that when a person dies / His soul returns again to earth; / Arrayed in some new flesh disguise / Another mother gives him birth / With sturdier limbs and brighter brain.
When Life knocks at the door no one can wait,
When Death makes his arrest we have to go.
Death opens unknown doors. It is most grand to die.
My road leads me seawards To the white dipping sails.
Man cannot call the brimming instant back;
Time's an affair of instants spun to days;
If man must make an instant gold, or black,
Let him, he may; but Time must go his ways.
Life may be duller for an instant's blaze.
Life's an affair of instants spun to years,
Instants are only cause of all these tears.
I must go down to the sea again, for the call of the running tide, is a wild call and a clear call, that cannot be denied!
But Time and Tide and Buttered Eggs wait for no man.
The distant soul can shake the distant friend's soul and make the longing felt, over untold miles.
When the last sea is sailed and last shallow charted,
When the last field is reaped and the last harvest stored,
When the last fire is out and the last guest departed
Grant the last prayer that I pray, Be good to me, O Lord.
Man with his burning soul Has but an hour of breath To build a ship of Truth In which his soul may sail- Sail on the sea of death. For death takes toll Of beauty, courage, youth, Of all but Truth.
All the great things of life are swiftly done, Creation, death, and love the double gate. However much we dawdle in the sun We have to hurry at the touch of Fate.
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.
On the long dusty ribbon of the long city street,
The pageant of life is passing me on multitudinous feet,
With a word here of the hills, and a song there of the sea
And-the great movement changes-the pageant passes me.
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 ...
Off Cape Horn there are but two kinds of weather, neither one of them a pleasant kind.
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.
His face was filled with broken commandments.
Most roads lead men homewards, My road leads me forth
Once in a century a man may be ruined or made insufferable by praise. But surely once in a minute something generous dies for want of it.
The days that make us happy make us wise.
Lord, give to me who are old and rougher
The things that little children suffer,
And let keep bright and undefiled
The young years of the little child.
People who leave their own time out of their work cannot be surprised if their time fails to find them interesting.
It is too maddening. I've got to fly off, right now, to some devilish navy yard, three hours in a seasick steamer, and after being heartily sick, I'll have to speak three times, and then I'll be sick coming home. Still, who would not be sick for England?
