Endymion Quotes

Endymion, you are my first love, my only love ... even if we're reborn, in another life, we'll find each other ... and then ... We'll fall in love again ... - Princess Serenity ~ Naoko Takeuchi

Do but consider what an excellent thing sleep is ... that golden chain that ties health and our bodies together. Who complains of want? of wounds? of cares? of great men's oppressions? of captivity? whilst he sleepeth? Beggars in their beds take as much pleasure kings: can we therefore surfeit on this delicate Ambrosia? Can we drink too much of that whereof to taste too little tumbles us into a churchyard, and to use it but indifferently throws us into Bedlam? No, no, look upon Endymion, the moon's minion, who slept three score and fifteen years, and was not a hair the worse for it. ~ Thomas Dekker

I'm dashed if I can see why you should be in such a quake!'
'It ain't that,' growled Endymion. 'I mean, I'm not afraid of Cousin Vernon! It's - it's his sisters, and my mother, and Frederica! I daresay you don't know.'
This inarticulate appeal for understanding touched chord of sympathy. Harry had had no personal experience of the trials which Endymion so obviously feared, but he had the instinctive male dread of feminine storms. He said, in an awed voice: 'Jupiter! I hadn't thought of that! Lord, what a dust they would kick up!'
Endymion cast him a look of gratitude. 'Ay, that's it. Not my mother,' he added scrupulously. 'Never kicks up a dust, precisely.'
Well, it *that's* so -'
'Takes to her bed,' said Endymion simply. 'Spasms! ~ Georgette Heyer

Endymion

The rising moon has hid the stars;
Her level rays, like golden bars,
Lie on the landscape green,
With shadows brown between.

And silver white the river gleams,
As if Diana, in her dreams,
Had dropt her silver bow
Upon the meadows low.

On such a tranquil night as this,
She woke Endymion with a kiss,
When, sleeping in the grove,
He dreamed not of her love.

Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought,
Love gives itself, but is not bought;
Nor voice, nor sound betrays
Its deep, impassioned gaze.

It comes,--the beautiful, the free,
The crown of all humanity,--
In silence and alone
To seek the elected one.

It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep
Are Life's oblivion, the soul's sleep,
And kisses the closed eyes
Of him, who slumbering lies.

O weary hearts! O slumbering eyes!
O drooping souls, whose destinies
Are fraught with fear and pain,
Ye shall be loved again!

No one is so accursed by fate,
No one so utterly desolate,
But some heart, though unknown,
Responds unto his own.

Responds,--as if with unseen wings,
An angel touched its quivering strings;
And whispers, in its song,
"Where hast thou stayed so long? ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

This night is not calm; the equinox still struggles in its storms. The wild rains of the day are abated; the great single cloud disparts and rolls away from heaven, not passing and leaving a sea all sapphire, but tossed buoyant before a continued, long-sounding, high-rushing moonlight tempest. The Moon reigns glorious, glad of the gale, as glad as if she gave herself to his fierce caress with love. No Endymion will watch for his goddess tonight. there are no flocks out on the mountains; and it is well, for to-night she welcomes Aeolus. ~ Charlotte Bronte

when i was a boy
a god often rescued me
from the shouts and the rods of men
and i played among trees and flowers
secure in their kindness
and the breezes of heaven
were playing there too.

and as you delight
the hearts of plants
when they stretch towards you
with little strength

so you delighted the heart in me
father Helios, and like Endymion
i was your favourite,
Moon. o all

you friendly
and faithful gods
i wish you could know
how my soul has loved you.

even though when i called to you then
it was not yet with names, and you
never named me as people do
as though they knew one another

i knew you better
than i have ever known them.
i understood the stillness above the sky
but never the words of men.

trees were my teachers
melodious trees
and i learned to love
among flowers.

i grew up in the arms of the gods. ~ Friedrich Holderlin

But if Frederica was aware of my sentiments, and begged Cousin Alverstoke to intervene - !" She shuddered, and clasped her hands tensely together. "You see, he could, Harry! He could arrange for Endymion to be sent abroad, for instance, and then I think I should die. Oh, my dear brother, there's no one to help us but you, and I count on your support! ~ Georgette Heyer

Yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From out dark spirits. ~ John Keats

I will consider it. - Endymion, Princess Sellene ~ Sarah J. Maas

Life is brutal that way ... the loss of irrecoverable moments amid trivia and distraction. ~ Dan Simmons

The Romantic journey was usually a solitary one. Although the Romantic poets were closely connected with one another, and some collaborated in their work, they each had a strong individual vision. Romantic poets could not continue their quests for long or sustain their vision into later life. The power of the imagination and of inspiration did not last. Whereas earlier poets had patrons who financed their writing, the tradition of patronage was not extensive in the Romantic period and poets often lacked financial and other support. Keats, Shelley and Byron all died in solitary exile from England at a young age, their work left incomplete, non-conformists to the end. This coincides with the characteristic Romantic images of the solitary heroic individual, the spiritual outcast 'alone, alone, all, all alone' like Coleridge's Ancient Mariner and John Clare's 'I'; like Shelley's Alastor, Keats's Endymion, or Byron's Manfred, who reached beyond the normal social codes and normal human limits so that 'his aspirations/Have been beyond the dwellers of the earth'. Wordsworth, who lived to be an old man, wrote poems throughout his life in which his poetic vision is stimulated by a single figure or object set against a natural background. Even his projected final masterpiece was entitled The Recluse. The solitary journey of the Romantic poet was taken up by many Victorian and twentieth-century poets, becoming almost an emblem of the individual's search for identity in an ever more confu ~ Ronald Carter

*You* may call [Charis] angelic to be for ever trying to please everyone, and being sorry for those she *can't* please, but I don't! Addle-brained is what *I* call it!'
'Oh, no!' uttered Charis imploringly.
'Oh, yes!' he retorted. 'Told you so before! If you don't take care, Charis, you'll end by being sorry for yourself! All for the want of a little resolution! What if Mrs Dauntry and Frederica don't like it [a marriage between you and Endymion]? They'll come round! And you needn't look at me as ugly as bull-beef, Endymion, because I'll say what I choose to my own sister! ~ Georgette Heyer

And so, it is not our own life that we live, but the lives of the dead, and the soul that dwells within us is no single spiritual entity, making us personal and individual, created for our service, and entering into us for our joy. It is something that has dwelt in fearful places, and in ancient sepulchres has made its abode. It is sick with many maladies, and has memories of curious sins. It is wiser than we are, and its wisdom is bitter. It fills us with impossible desires, and makes us follow what we know we cannot gain. One thing, however, Ernest, it can do for us. It can lead us away from surroundings whose beauty is dimmed to us by the mist of familiarity, or whose ignoble ugliness and sordid claims are marring the perfection of our development. It can help us to leave the age in which we were born, and to pass into other ages, and find ourselves not exiled from their air. It can teach us how to escape from our experience, and to realise the experiences of those who are greater than we are. The pain of Leopardi crying out against life becomes our pain. Theocritus blows on his pipe, and we laugh with the lips of nymph and shepherd. In the wolfskin of Pierre Vidal we flee before the hounds, and in the armour of Lancelot we ride from the bower of the Queen. We have whispered the secret of our love beneath the cowl of Abelard, and in the stained raiment of Villon have put our shame into song. We can see the dawn through Shelley's eyes, and when we wander with Endymion the M ~ Oscar Wilde

There's no artist in this world that doesn't enjoy the dream that if they have bad reviews now, the story of Keats can redeem them, in their fantasy or imagination, in the future. I think Keats' poem 'Endymion' is a really difficult poem, and I'm not surprised that a lot of people pulled it apart in a way. ~ Jane Campion

The crow signs as sweetly as the lark when no one's paying attention to them, and I think that if the nightingale sang during the day while all the geese were cackling, people would think it sounded no better than a wren. So many things are made perfect and as they should be by good timing! But quiet. Look how the moon won't be awakened. It must be sleeping with [Endymion ~ William Shakespeare

Estates are sometimes held by foolish forms, the breaking of a stick or the payment of a peppercorn. I was willing to hold the whole huge estate of earth and heaven by any such feudal fantasy. It could not well be wilder than the fact that I was allowed to hold it at all. At this stage I give only one ethical instance to show my meaning. I could never mix in the common murmur of the rising generation against monogamy, because no restriction on sex seemed so odd and unexpected as sex itself. To be allowed, like Endymion, to make love to the moon and then to complain that Jupiter kept his own moons in a harem seemed to me (bred on fairy tales like Endymion's) a vulgar anticlimax.Keeping to one woman is a small price for so much as seeing one woman. To complain that I could only be married once was like complaining that I could only be born once. It was incommensurate with the terrible excitement of which one was talking. It showed, not an exaggerated sensibility to sex, but a curious insensibility to it. A man is a fool who complains that he cannot enter Eden by five gates at once. Polygamy is a lack of the realization of sex; it is like a man plucking five pears in mere absence of mind. ~ G.K. Chesterton

When summer and winter in autumn divide
The sun will uncover a secret inside.
Should winter from summer irrevocably part
The whole of the book will fall quickly apart.
Yet if the seasons join hands together
The order of things will last forever.
These are the words of Endymion spring.
Bring only the insight the Inside brings.

The child may see what the man does not
A future time which time forgot:
Books yet to be and books already written
Within these pages lie dormant and hidden.
Yet darkness seeks what light reveals
A shadow grows: these truths conceal.
These are my words, Endymion spring.
Bring only the insight the Inside brings.

The silence will end-the sum approaches
Mark my word-the shadow encroaches.
The present had passed-the past has gone
The future will come-once Two become One.
The sun must look the shadow in the eye
Then forfeit the book lest one half die.
The lesion of darkness cannot be healed
Until, with Child's Blood, the whole is sealed.
These are the words of Endymion spring.
Bring only the insight the Inside brings. ~ Matthew Skelton

That which is creative must create itself. ~ John Keats

And now I wish I hadn't been civil, because he says he shall not despair! He is as stupid as Endymion!"
"No, no!" said Alverstoke soothingly. "Nobody could be as stupid as Endymion! ~ Georgette Heyer

If there is a true religion in the universe, it must include the truth of contact or be forever hollow. ~ Dan Simmons

Reason I know, is only a drug, and, as such, its effects are never permanent. But, like the juice of the poppy, it often gives a temporary relief. ~ Hope Mirrlees