william ernest henley Quotes

To be a good Briton, a man must trade profitably, marry respectably, live cleanly, avoid excess, revere the established order, and wear his heart in his breeches pocket or anywhere but on his sleeve.
tags: men heart live marry
— William Ernest Henley
Balzac's ambition was to be omnipotent. He would be Michelangelesque, and that by sheer force of minuteness. He exaggerated scientifically, and made things gigantic by a microscopic fulness of detail.
tags: ambition
— William Ernest Henley
In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud: Under the bludgeoning of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed.
tags: chance
— William Ernest Henley
Open your heart and take us in, Love-love and me.
tags: heart
— William Ernest Henley
Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed.
tags: chance
— William Ernest Henley
[T]hey stretch you on a table. Then they bid you close your eyelids, And they mask you with a napkin, And the anÃsthetic reaches Hot and subtle through your being.
— William Ernest Henley
Night with her train of stars And her great gift of sleep.
tags: sleep star night gift
— William Ernest Henley
Life - give me life until the end,That at the very top of being,The battle-spirit shouting in my blood,Out of the reddest hell of the fightI may be snatched and flungInto the everlasting lull,The immortal, incommunicable dream.
tags: hell immortal dreams
— William Ernest Henley
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 CÃsar and his fortunes-steady!
tags: chance mystery dark strong hope
— William Ernest Henley
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.
tags: character men emotion vague
— William Ernest Henley
Life is a smoke that curls-Curls in a flickering skein,That winds and whisks and whirls,A figment thin and vain,Into the vast inane.One end for hut and hall.
tags: smoke
— William Ernest Henley
Who but knowsHow it goes!Life's a last year's Nightingale,Love's a last year's rose.
tags: year
— William Ernest Henley
For it's home, dearie, home-it's home I want to be.Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea.O, the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken treeThey're all growing green in the old countrie.
— William Ernest Henley
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)
tags: men women joy live earth night longing summer die
— William Ernest Henley
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.
tags: men companion poor immortality
— William Ernest Henley
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.
tags: believe write
— William Ernest Henley
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.
tags: men soul ocean mind standard
— William Ernest Henley
Life is, I think, a blunder and a shame.
tags: shame
— William Ernest Henley
Here is the ghost Of a summer that lived for us, Ere is a promise Of summer to be.
tags: summer ghost
— William Ernest Henley
Men may scoff, and men may pray, But they pay Every pleasure with a pain.
tags: men pain pleasure pray
— William Ernest Henley
So many are the deaths we dieBefore we can be dead indeed.
tags: death
— William Ernest Henley
Life is worth LivingThrough every grain of it,From the foundationsTo the last edgeOf the cornerstone, death.
tags: death worth
— William Ernest Henley
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.
tags: master soul punishment
— William Ernest Henley
beyond this place of wrath and tears looms but the horror of the shade
tags: horror tears
— William Ernest Henley
I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.
tags: master soul
— William Ernest Henley
Life - life - let there be life!Better a thousand times the roaring hoursWhen wave and wind,Like the Arch-Murderer in flightFrom the Avenger at his heel,Storm through the desolate fastnessesAnd wild waste places of the world!
tags: time wild
— William Ernest Henley
Life - life - let there be life!
— William Ernest Henley
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.
tags: heart joy song
— William Ernest Henley
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.
tags: world poetry read
— William Ernest Henley
I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.
tags: soul god
— William Ernest Henley
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.
tags: immortal confusion artist
— William Ernest Henley
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.
tags: death men winter summer holy dreams mother
— William Ernest Henley
A late lark twitters from the quiet skies.
tags: sky
— William Ernest Henley
Life - life - life! 'Tis the sole great thingThis side of death,Heart on heart in the wonder of Spring!
tags: heart wonder
— William Ernest Henley
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.
tags: death heart
— William Ernest Henley
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.
tags: death
— William Ernest Henley
And lo, the Hospital, gray, quiet, old, Where life and death like friendly chafferers meet.
tags: death
— William Ernest Henley
Shakespeare and Rembrandt have in common the faculty of quickening speculation and compelling the minds of men to combat and discussion.
tags: men mind
— 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.
tags: criticism artist
— William Ernest Henley
This is the merit and distinction of art: to be more real than reality, to be not nature but nature's essence.
tags: nature reality real
— William Ernest Henley