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The mortal sickness of a mind too unhappy to be kind.

A. E. Housman

Who made the world I cannot tell; ‘Tis made, and here am I in hell. My hand, though now my knuckles bleed, I never soiled with such a deed.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Hands Hell Myself World
The rainy Pleiads wester Orion plunges prone, And midnight strikes and hastens, And I lie down alone.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Alone Hatton Lying Midnight Orion Prone Rain Strike Wester
Some men are more interesting than their books but my book is more interesting than its man.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Book Interesting Man Men
All knowledge is precious whether or not it serves the slightest human use.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Human Knowledge Precious Service
I think that to transfuse emotion – not to transmit thought but to set up in the reader’s sense a vibration corresponding to what was felt by the writer – is the peculiar function of poetry.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Emotion Poetry Reader Transmit
And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Cheer Doubt Ear Emotion Fear Scare Silence Sound Stop Worse
There, like the wind through woods in riot, Through him the gale of life blew high; The tree of man was never quiet: Then ’twas the Roman, now ’tis I.
A. E. HOUSMAN
Look not in my eyes, for fear They mirror true the sight I see, And there you find your face too clear And love it and be lost like me.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Eyes Face Fear Lost Love Myself Sight
When the journey’s over/There’ll be time enough to sleep.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Enough Journey Limit Order Rich Sleep Struggle Success Time
Clay lies still, but blood’s a rover; Breath’s aware that will not keep. Up, lad: when the journey’s over then there’ll be time enough to sleep.
A. E. HOUSMAN
In every American there is an air of incorrigible innocence, which seems to conceal a diabolical cunning.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Conceal Country Cunning
They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man,The lads that will die in their glory and never be old.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Concur Glory Knowledge Literature Man Masterwork Men P Writing
Do not ever read books about versification: no poet ever learnt it that way. If you are going to be a poet, it will come to you naturally and you will pick up all you need from reading poetry.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Book Learning Poet Poetry Reading
Poetry is not the thing said, but the way of saying it.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Poetry Words Writing
Now hollow fires burn out to black, And lights are guttering low: Square your shoulders, lift your pack And leave your friends and go.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Fire Friend Hollow Light Shoulder
Oh, ’tis jesting, dancing, drinking Spins the heavy world around.
A. E. HOUSMAN

Dance Drink World

The mortal sickness of a mind too unhappy to be kind.

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The mortal sickness of a mind too unhappy to be kind.

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