Matthew Arnold


English Poet, Essayist and Cultural Critic

Author Quotes

We are here on earth to do good to others. What the others are here for, I do not know.

What shelter to grow ripe is ours? What leisure to grow wise?

With its sick hurry, its divided aims.

We cannot kindle when we will the fire that in the heart resides, the spirit bloweth and is still, in mystery our soul abides; ? But tasks, in hours of insight willed, can be through hours of gloom fulfilled.

What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.

With women the heart argues, not the mind.

We cannot kindle when we will The fire which in the heart resides, The spirit bloweth and is still, In mystery our soul abides: But tasks in hours of insight will'd Can be through hours of gloom fulfill'd.

What then remains, but that we still should cry not to be born, or being born to die.

Without poetry our science will appear incomplete, and most of what now passes with us for religion and philosophy will be replaced by poetry.

We count the hours: these dreams of ours, false and hollow, shall we go hence and find they are not dead?

What thwarts us and demands of us the greatest effort is also what can teach us most.

Without some strong motive to the contrary, men united by the pursuit of a clearly defined common aim of irresistible attractiveness naturally coalesce; and since they coalesce naturally, they are clearly right in coalescing and find their advantage in it.

We do not what we ought; What we ought not, we do; And lean upon the thought That chance will bring us through; But our own acts, for good or ill, are mightier powers.

When Byron's eyes were shut in death, We bow'd our head and held our breath. He taught us little; but our soul Had felt his like a thunder roll. . . . We watch'd the fount of fiery life Which serv'd for that Titanic life.

Wordsworth has gone from us ? and ye, ah, may ye feel his voice as we! He too upon a wintry clime had fallen ? on this iron time of doubts, disputes, distractions, fears.

We forget because we must and not because we will.

When we first saw the news of the bombing we didn't know he was out there [in Bali],

Years hence, perhaps, may dawn an age, More fortunate, alas! than we, Which without hardness will be sage, And gay without frivolity.

We mortal millions live alone.

Where great whales come sailing by, sail and sail, with unshut eye, round the world for ever and aye? When did music come this way? Children dear, was it yesterday?

Yes! in the sea of life enisled, With echoing straits between us thrown, Dotting the shoreless watery wild, We mortal millions live alone.

We should conceive of poetry worthily, and more highly than it has been the custom to conceive of it. We should conceive of it as capable of higher uses, and called to higher destinies, than those which in general men have assigned to it hitherto. More and more mankind will discover that we have to turn to poetry to interpret life for us, to console us, to sustain us.

Wherever there is cupidity, there the blessing of the Gospel cannot rest. The actual poor, therefore, may altogether fail to be objects of that blessing, the actual rich may be the objects of it in the highest degree.

Yes, thou art gone! and round me too the night in ever-nearing circle weaves her shade. I see her veil draw soft across the day, I feel her slowly chilling breath invade the cheek grown thin, the brown hair sprent with grey; I feel her finger light

We, in some unknown Power's employ, move on a rigorous line; can neither, when we will, enjoy, nor, when we will, resign.

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English Poet, Essayist and Cultural Critic