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But men at whiles are sober And think by fits and starts. And if they think, they fasten Their hands upon their hearts.

A. E. Housman

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More A. E. Housman Quotes

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  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.

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• 

  Oh I have been to Ludlow fair, and left my necktie God knows where. And carried half way home, or near, pints and quarts of Ludlow beer.

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• 

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

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  All knots that lovers tie Are tied to sever. Here shall your sweetheart lie, Untrue for ever.

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• 

  The average man, if he meddles with criticism at all, is a conservative critic.

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• 

  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.

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• 

  Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour, He stood and counted them and cursed his luck; And then the clock collected in the tower Its strength, and struck.

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• 

  You smile upon your friend to-day, To-day his ills are over; You hearken to the lover’s say, And happy is the lover. ‘Tis late to hearken, late to smile, But better late than never: I shall have lived a little while Before I die for ever.

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• 

  There, by the starlit fences The wanderer halts and hears My soul that lingers sighing About the glimmering weirs.

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• 

  We now to peace and darkness And earth and thee restore Thy creature that thou madest And wilt cast forth no more.

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• 

  White in the moon the long road lies.

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  Give me a land of boughs in leaf A land of trees that stand; Where trees are fallen there is grief; I love no leafless land.

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• 

  They put arsenic in his meat And stared aghast to watch him eat; They poured strychnine in his cup And shook to see him drink it up.

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• 

  Great literature should do some good to the reader: must quicken his perception though dull, and sharpen his discrimination though blunt, and mellow the rawness of his personal opinions.

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• 

  Good religious poetry… is likely to be most justly appreciated and most discriminately relished by the undevout.

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• 

  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.

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