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All that’s bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that’s sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest.

Thomas Moore

Humility, that low, sweet root, from which all heavenly virtues shoot.
THOMAS MOORE

Heaven Humility Shoot Virtue
Ask a woman’s advice, and whatever she advises, Do the very reverse and you’re sure to be wise.
THOMAS MOORE

Advice Herself Woman
And soon, too soon, we part with pain, To sail o’er silent seas again.
THOMAS MOORE

Ourselves Pain Sea Silence
All that’s bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that’s sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest.
THOMAS MOORE

Bright Lost Sweet
Disguise our bondage as we will, ‘Tis woman, woman, rules us still.
THOMAS MOORE

Bondage Ourselves Rule Woman
It is only to the happy that tears are a luxury.
THOMAS MOORE

Happiness Luxury Tears
What though youth gave love and roses, Age still leaves us friends and wine.
THOMAS MOORE

Friendship Love Rose Wine Youth
Came but for friendship, and took away love.
THOMAS MOORE

Friendship Love Relationship
No, there’s nothing half so sweet in life as love’s young dream.
THOMAS MOORE

Dreams Life Young
My only books were woman’s looks, and folly’s all they’ve taught me.
THOMAS MOORE

Book Myself Teaching Woman
Bastard Freedom waves Her fustian flag in mockery over slaves.
THOMAS MOORE

Humiliate Slave
Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish; Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.
THOMAS MOORE

Anguish Hard Time Healing Heart Heaven Inspirational Wound
Romantic love is an illusion. Most of us discover this truth at the end of a love affair or else when the sweet emotions of love lead us into marriage and then turn down their flames.
THOMAS MOORE

Discover Emotion Flame Illusion Leadership Love Marriage Ourselves Truth
A pretty wife is something for the fastidious vanity of a roue to retire upon.
THOMAS MOORE

Pretty Retirement Wife
This wretched brain gave way, and I became a wreck at random driven, without one glimpse of reason or heaven.
THOMAS MOORE

Brain Drive Heaven Myself Reason
Oh! blame not the bard.
THOMAS MOORE

Blame One Liner

All that’s bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that’s sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest.

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All that’s bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that’s sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest.

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Popular Authors

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