I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. William Ernest Henley More Quotes by William Ernest Henley More Quotes From William Ernest Henley Out of the night that covers me, William Ernest Henley dont-give-upgiving-upstrength beyond this place of wrath and tears looms but the horror of the shade William Ernest Henley unconquerable-willwrathtears It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll; I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul. William Ernest Henley punishmentfatelife So many are the deaths we die William Ernest Henley diesdeath Life is worth Living William Ernest Henley foundationlastslife Men may scoff, and men may pray, But they pay Every pleasure with a pain. William Ernest Henley painmaymen Love, which is lust, is the Lamp in the Tomb. William Ernest Henley springrunninglife Life - give me life until the end, William Ernest Henley fightingdreamlife Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. William Ernest Henley unconquerable-willstatisticschance Here is the ghost William Ernest Henley julysummerpromise Were I so tall as to reach the pole or grasp the ocean at a span, I must be measured by my soul. The mind is the standard of the man. William Ernest Henley oceanmenlife Night with her train of stars And her great gift of sleep. William Ernest Henley starssleepnight Life is, I think, a blunder and a shame. William Ernest Henley shamelife-isthinking This is the merit and distinction of art: to be more real than reality, to be not nature but nature's essence. William Ernest Henley realessenceart For it's home, dearie, home--it's home I want to be. William Ernest Henley seahometree Behold me waiting—waiting for the knife.... The thick, sweet mystery of chloroform, The drunken dark, the little death-in-life.... [F]ace to face with chance, I shrink a little: My hopes are strong, my will is something weak. ...I am ready But, gentlemen my porters, life is brittle: You carry Cæsar and his fortunes—steady! William Ernest Henley strongdarksweet O, it's die we must, but it's live we can, And the marvel of earth and sun Is all for the joy of woman and man And the longing that makes them one." (Between the Dusk of a Summer Night, 13-16) William Ernest Henley summermennight Life is a smoke that curls- William Ernest Henley curlswindlife Who but knows William Ernest Henley roselifeyears Shakespeare often writes so ill that you hesitate to believe he could ever write supremely well; or, if this way of putting it seem indecorous and abominable, he very often writes so well that you are loth to believe he could ever have written thus extremely ill. William Ernest Henley writingbelieveway
