With aching hands and bleeding feet We dig and heap, lay stone on stone; We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day, and wish ’twere done. Not till the hours of light return All we have built do we discern.
MATTHEW ARNOLDWith aching hands and bleeding feet We dig and heap, lay stone on stone; We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day, and wish ’twere done. Not till the hours of light return All we have built do we discern.
More Matthew Arnold Quotes
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Use your gifts faithfully, and they shall be enlarged; practice what you know, and you shall attain to higher knowledge.
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Time, so complain’d of, Who to no one man Shows partiality, Brings round to all men Some undimm’d hours.
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The sophist sneers: Fool, take Thy pleasure, right or wrong! The pious wail: Forsake A world these sophists throng! Be neither saint nor sophist-led, but be a man.
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To thee only God granted A heart ever new: To all always open; To all always true.
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One thing only has been lent to youth and age in common–discontent.
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Philistinism! – We have not the expression in English. Perhaps we have not the word because we have so much of the thing.
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The true meaning of religion is thus not simply morality, but morality touched by emotion.
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The difference between genuine poetry and the poetry of Dryden, Pope, and all their school, is briefly this: their poetry is conceived and composed in their wits, genuine poetry is conceived and composed in the soul.
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I do not believe today everything I believed yesterday I wonder will I believe tomorrow everything I believe today.
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How many minds–almost all the great ones–were formed in secrecy and solitude!
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For poetry the idea is everything; the rest is a world of illusion, of divine illusion. Poetry attaches its emotion to the idea; the idea is the fact. The strongest part of our religion today is its unconscious poetry.
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To have the sense of creative activity is the great happiness and the great proof of being alive.
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Art still has truth. Take refuge there.
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It is – last stage of all When we are frozen up within, and quite The phantom of ourselves To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost Which blamed the living man
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A wanderer is man from his birth. He was born in a ship On the breast of the river of Time.
MATTHEW ARNOLD