A wild plant that, when it blooms by chance within the hedge of our gardens, we call a flower; and when it blooms outside we call a weed; but, flower or weed, whose scent and colour are always, wild!
JOHN GALSWORTHYI think the greatest thing in the world is to believe in people.
More John Galsworthy Quotes
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The beginnings and endings of all human undertakings are untidy.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
There are moments when Nature reveals the passion hidden beneath the careless calm of her ordinary moods-violent spring flashing white on almond-blossom through the purple clouds.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Light-heartedness always made Soames suspicious – there was generally some reason for it.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
We have to love because we love loving.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
A snowy, moonlit peak, with its single star, soaring up to the passionate blue; or against the flames of sunset, an old yew-tree standing dark guardian of some fiery secret.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
The sense of form that both had in such high degree prevented much demonstration; but to be with him, do things for him, to admire, and credit him with perfection; and, since she could not exactly wear the same clothes or speak in the same clipped, quiet, decisive voice.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
I am still under the impression that there is nothing alive quite so beautiful as a thoroughbred horse.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Summer summer summer! The soundless footsteps on the grass!
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
To dislike the clothes and voices of other men – all this was precious to her beyond everything.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
He was afflicted by the thought that where Beauty was, nothing ever ran quite straight, which no doubt, was why so many people looked on it as immoral.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Dreaming is the poetry of Life, and we must be forgiven if we indulge in it a little.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
The young man who, at the end of September, 1924, dismounted from a taxicab in South Square,
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Life calls the tune, we dance.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
It’s not life that counts but the fortitude you bring into it.
JOHN GALSWORTHY -
Love is not a hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a wet night, born of an hour of sunshine; sprung from wild seed, blown along the road by a wild wind.
JOHN GALSWORTHY