Life - life - life! 'Tis the sole great thing William Ernest Henley More Quotes by William Ernest Henley More Quotes From William Ernest Henley Pointed criticism, if accurate, often gives the artist an inner sense of relief. The criticism that damages is that which disparages, dismisses, ridicules, or condemns. William Ernest Henley criticismartistgiving I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. William Ernest Henley atheismsoulfear And lo, the Hospital, gray, quiet, old, Where life and death like friendly chafferers meet. William Ernest Henley medicallife-and-deathfriendly Men there have been who have done the essayist's part so well as to have earned an immortality in the doing; but we have had not many of them, and they make but a poor figure on our shelves. It is a pity that things should be thus with us, for a good essayist is the pleasantest companion imaginable. William Ernest Henley pitydonemen There are two men in Tolstoy. He is a mystic and he is also a realist. He is addicted to the practice of a pietism that for all its sincerity is nothing if not vague and sentimental; and he is the most acute and dispassionate of observers, the most profound and earnest student of character and emotion. William Ernest Henley charactermentwo The nightingale has a lyre of gold, The lark's is a clarion call, And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute, But I love him best of all. For his song is all the joy of life, And we in the mad spring weather, We two have listened till he sang Our hearts and lips together. William Ernest Henley heartspringsong [T]hey stretch you on a table. Then they bid you close your eyelids, And they mask you with a napkin, And the anæsthetic reaches Hot and subtle through your being. William Ernest Henley heytableshot Shakespeare and Rembrandt have in common the faculty of quickening speculation and compelling the minds of men to combat and discussion. William Ernest Henley mindcommonmen Life - life - let there be life! William Ernest Henley life Madam Life's a piece in bloom Death goes dogging everywhere: she's the tenant of the room, he's the ruffian on the stair. William Ernest Henley piecesdyingdeath Open your heart and take us in, Love-love and me. William Ernest Henley heartlovelife In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud: Under the bludgeoning of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed. William Ernest Henley unconquerable-willone-tree-hill-lovechance Or ever the knightly years were gone, with the old world to the grave, I was a King in Babylon and you were a Christian Slave. I saw, I took, I cast you by, I bent and broke your pride... And a myriad suns have set and shone, since then upon the grave, Decreed by the King in Babylon, to her that had been his slave. The pride I trampled is now my scathe, for it tramples me again. The old remnant lasts like death for you love, yet you refrain. I break my heart on your hard unfaith, and I break my heart in vain. William Ernest Henley karmakingschristian The life of Dumas is not only a monument of endeavour and success, it is a sort of labyrinth as well. It abounds in pseudonyms and disguises, in sudden and unexpected appearances and retreats as unexpected and sudden, in scandals and in rumours, in mysteries and traps and ambuscades of every kind. William Ernest Henley pseudonymslabyrinthretreat So be my passing! My task accomplished and the long day done, My wages taken, and in my heart Some late lark singing, Let me be gathered in the quiet west, The sundown splendid and serene, Death. William Ernest Henley takenheartdeath Now, to read poetry at all is to have an ideal anthology of one's own, and in that possession to be incapable of content with the anthologies of all the world besides. William Ernest Henley anthologypossessionworld Between the dusk of a summer night William Ernest Henley summermennight Into the winter's gray delight, Into the summer's golden dream, Holy and high and impartial, Death, the mother of Life, Mingles all men for ever. William Ernest Henley mothersummerdeath A late lark twitters from the quiet skies. William Ernest Henley larksskyquiet It is the artist's function not to copy but to synthesise: to eliminate from that gross confusion of actuality which is his raw material whatever is accidental, idle, irrelevant, and select for perpetuation that only which is appropriate and immortal. William Ernest Henley raw-materialsconfusionartist
