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 More Quotes by William Ernest Henley More Quotes From William Ernest Henley Out of the night that covers me, William Ernest Henley dont-give-up giving-up strength beyond this place of wrath and tears looms but the horror of the shade William Ernest Henley unconquerable-will wrath tears 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 punishment fate life So many are the deaths we die William Ernest Henley dies death Life is worth Living William Ernest Henley foundation lasts life Men may scoff, and men may pray, But they pay Every pleasure with a pain. William Ernest Henley pain may men Love, which is lust, is the Lamp in the Tomb. William Ernest Henley spring running life Life - give me life until the end, William Ernest Henley fighting dream life Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. William Ernest Henley unconquerable-will statistics chance Here is the ghost William Ernest Henley july summer promise 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 ocean men life Night with her train of stars And her great gift of sleep. William Ernest Henley stars sleep night Life is, I think, a blunder and a shame. William Ernest Henley shame life-is thinking 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 real essence art For it's home, dearie, home--it's home I want to be. William Ernest Henley sea home tree 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 strong dark sweet 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 summer men night Life is a smoke that curls- William Ernest Henley curls wind life Who but knows William Ernest Henley rose life years 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 writing believe way
