Nature, not content with denying him the ability to think, has endowed him with the ability to write.
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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When the journey’s over, There’ll be time enough to sleep.
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And silence sounds no worse than cheers After earth has stopped the ears.
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The thoughts of others Were light and fleeting, Of lovers’ meeting Or luck or fame. Mine were of trouble, And mine were steady; So I was ready When trouble came.
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Stars, I have seen them fall, But when they drop and die No star is lost at all From all the star-sown sky. The toil of all that be Helps not the primal fault; It rains into the sea And still the sea is salt.
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Poetry is not the thing said, but the way of saying it.
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In every American there is an air of incorrigible innocence, which seems to conceal a diabolical cunning.
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The house of delusions is cheap to build but drafty to live in.
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Give crowns and pounds and guineas But not your heart away; Give pearls away and rubies, But keep your fancy free.
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A moment’s thought would have shown him. But a moment is a long time, and thought is a painful process.
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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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Experience has taught me, when I am shaving of a morning, to keep watch over my thoughts, because, if a line of poetry strays into my memory, my skin bristles so that the razor ceases to act.
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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.
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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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Three minutes thought would suffice to find this out; but thought is irksome and three minutes is a long time.
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To justify God’s ways to man.
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This is for all ill-treated fellows Unborn and unbegot, For them to read when they’re in trouble And I am not.
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Luck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure.
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Therefore, since the world has still Much good, but much less good than ill.
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And malt does more than Milton can to justify God’s ways to man.
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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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I, a stranger and afraid, in a world I never made.
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Hope lies to mortals And most believe her, But man’s deceiver Was never mine.
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I could no more define poetry than a terrier can define a rat.
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I find Cambridge an asylum, in every sense of the word.
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The mortal sickness of a mind too unhappy to be kind.
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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.
A. E. HOUSMAN