Quotes
Quotes about Man
How does the poet speak to men with power, but by being still more a man than they?
There is no heroic poem in the world but is at bottom a biography, the life of a man; also it may be said, there is no life of a man, faithfully recorded, but is a heroic poem of its sort, rhymed or unrhymed.
The uttered part of a man's life, let us always repeat, bears to the unuttered, unconscious part a small unknown proportion. He himself never knows it, much less do others.
It can be said of him, when he departed he took a Man's life with him. No sounder piece of British manhood was put together in that eighteenth century of Time.
Everywhere the human soul stands between a hemisphere of light and another of darkness on the confines of two everlasting hostile empires,--Necessity and Free Will.
The Public is an old woman. Let her maunder and mumble.
There is endless merit in a man's knowing when to have done.
Even in the meanest sorts of Labor, the whole soul of a man is composed into a kind of real harmony the instant he sets himself to work.
Adversity is sometimes hard upon a man; but for one man who can stand prosperity there are a hundred that will stand adversity.
Can there be a more horrible object in existence than an eloquent man not speaking the truth?
The soul of man is larger than the sky,
Deeper than ocean, or the abysmal dark
Of the unfathomed center.
She is not fair to outward view
As many maidens be;
Her loveliness I never knew
Until she smiled on me:
Oh! then I saw her eye was bright,
A well of love, a spring of light.
We can do without any article of luxury we have never had; but when once obtained, it is not in human natur' to surrender it voluntarily.
Oh, I have roamed o'er many lands,
And many friends I've met;
Not one fair scene or kindly smile
Can this fond heart forget.
As she sat in the low-backed car
The man at the turn-pike bar
Never asked for the toll
But just rubbed his auld poll
And looked after the low-backed car.
She stood breast-high amid the corn
Clasped by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.
When he is forsaken,
Withered and shaken,
What can an old man do but die?
A man that's fond precociously of stirring
Must be a spoon.
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat in unwomanly rags
Plying her needle and thread,--
Stitch! stitch! stitch!
O men with sisters dear,
O men with mothers and wives,
It is not linen you're wearing out,
But human creatures' lives!
Most wondrous book! bright candle of the Lord!
Star of Eternity! The only star
By which the bark of man could navigate
The sea of life and gain the coast of bliss
Securely.
He touched his harp, and nations heard, entranced,
As some vast river of unfailing source,
Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed
And opened new fountains in the human heart.
He laid his hand upon "the Ocean's mane,"
And played familiar with his hoary locks.
He was a man
Who stole the livery of the court of Heaven
To serve the Devil in.
A man possessed of splendid talents, which he often abused, and of a sound judgment, the admonitions of which he often neglected; a man who succeeded only in an inferior department of his art, but who in that department succeeded pre-eminently.
