Three minutes thought would suffice to find this out; but thought is irksome and three minutes is a long time.
A. E. HOUSMANSome men are more interesting than their books but my book is more interesting than its man.
More A. E. Housman Quotes
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The average man, if he meddles with criticism at all, is a conservative critic.
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When the journey’s over, There’ll be time enough to sleep.
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 -
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.
A. E. HOUSMAN -
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough.
A. E. HOUSMAN -
This is for all ill-treated fellows Unborn and unbegot, For them to read when they’re in trouble And I am not.
A. E. HOUSMAN -
But if you ever come to a road where danger; Or guilt or anguish or shame’s to share. Be good to the lad who loves you true, And the soul that was born to die for you; And whistle and I’ll be there.
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Housman is one of my heroes and always has been. He was a detestable and miserable man. Arrogant, unspeakably lonely, cruel, and so on, but and absolutely marvellous minor poet, I think, and a great scholar.
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Earth and high heaven are fixed of old and founded strong.
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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 -
With rue my heart is laden For golden friends I had, For many a rose-lipped maiden And many a lightfoot lad.
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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.
A. E. HOUSMAN -
Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink for fellows whom it hurts to think.
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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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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