Alfred Tennyson citáty

strana 5

„Kdybych měla květinu za každou vzpomínku na tebe, mohla bych se procházet po své zahradě navždy.“

„Kdo je v lásce moudrý, miluje co nejvíc a mluví co nejmíň.“

„Muži se liší jako nebe a zem, ženy jako nebe a peklo.“

„Buď rozum nebo láska – nikdy ne obojí.“

„Mocní zapomínají na umírajícího krále.“

„Štěstí člověka v tomto životě nespočívá v absenci, ale v ovládnutí jeho vášní.“

„Je lepší milovat a ztratit, než nikdy nemilovat.“

„Vědění přichází, ale moudrost se vleče.“

“Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."”

“A good woman is a wondrous creature, cleaving to the right and to the good under all change: lovely in youthful comeliness, lovely all her life long in comeliness of heart.”

“Nor is he the wisest man who never proved himself a fool.”

“Remember that sore saying spoken once
By Him that was the Truth, 'How hard it is
For the rich man to enter into heaven!'
Let all rich men remember that hard word.”

“Be patient. Our Playwright may show
In some fifth act what this wild Drama means.”

“"I'll never love any but you," the morning song of the lark;
"I'll never love any but you," the nightingale's hymn in the dark.”

“Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the rose is blown.”

“If you are not the heiress born,
And I," said he, "the lawful heir,
We two will wed to-morrow morn,
And you shall still be Lady Clare.”

“Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.”

“Her manners had not that repose
Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere.”

“In statesmanship
To strike too soon is oft to miss the blow.”

“The shell must break before the bird can fly.”

“The night with sudden odour reeled;
The southern stars a music pealed.”

“…none can truly write his single day,
And none can write it for him upon earth.”

“Love will conquer at the last.”

“And ah for a man to arise in me,
That the man I am may cease to be!”

“Forget thee…
Never—
Till Nature, high and low, and great and small
Forgets herself, and all her loves and hates
Sink again into Chaos.”

“The song that nerves a nation's heart
Is in itself a deed.”

“And the parson made it his text that week, and he said likewise,
That a lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies,
That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright,
But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.”

“I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.”

“That jewelled mass of millinery,
That oiled and curled Assyrian Bull.”

“Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.”

“Insipid as the queen upon a card.”

“His deeds yet live, the worst is yet to come.
Yet let your sleep for this one night be sound:
I do forgive him!”

“Authority forgets a dying king,
Laid widow’d of the power in his eye
That bow’d the will.”

“You that woo the Voices—tell them "Old Experience is a fool";
Teach your flattered kings that only those who can not read can rule.”

“"He does not love me for my birth
Nor for my lands so broad and fair;
He loves me for my own true worth,
And that is well," said Lady Clare.”

“Follow you the star that lights a desert pathway, yours or mine.
Forward, till you see the Highest Human Nature is divine.”

“Then some one spake: "Behold! it was a crime
Of sense avenged by sense that wore with time."
Another said: "The crime of sense became
The crime of malice, and is equal blame."
And one: "He had not wholly quench'd his power;
A little grain of conscience made him sour."
At last I heard a voice upon the slope
Cry to the summit, "Is there any hope?"
To which an answer peal'd from that high land,
But in a tongue no man could understand;
And on the glimmering limit far withdrawn
God made Himself an awful rose of dawn.”