Robert Service, fully Robert William Service

Robert
Service, fully Robert William Service
1874
1958

English Poet and Writer, known as "the Bard of the Yukon"

Author Quotes

The man who can fight to heaven's own height is the man who can fight when he's losing.

When you're lost in the Wild, and you're scared as a child,
And Death looks you bang in the eye,
And you're sore as a boil, it’s according to Hoyle
To cock your revolver and . . . die.
But the Code of a Man says: "Fight all you can,"
And self-dissolution is barred.
In hunger and woe, oh, it’s easy to blow . . .
It’s the hell-served-for-breakfast that’s hard.

"You're sick of the game!" Well, now that’s a shame.
You're young and you're brave and you're bright.
"You've had a raw deal!" I know — but don't squeal,
Buck up, do your damnedest, and fight.
It’s the plugging away that will win you the day,
So don't be a piker, old pard!
Just draw on your grit, it’s so easy to quit.
It’s the keeping-your chin-up that’s hard.

It’s easy to cry that you're beaten — and die;
It’s easy to crawfish and crawl;
But to fight and to fight when hope’s out of sight —
Why that’s the best game of them all!
And though you come out of each gruelling bout,
All broken and battered and scarred,
Just have one more try — it’s dead easy to die,
It’s the keeping-on-living that’s hard.

Our breath is brief, and being so
Let's make our heaven here below,
And lavish kindness as we go.

Even goats may have starlight in their eyes.

It wallowed in its water-bed; it burrowed, heaved and swung;
It gnawed its way ahead with grunts and sighs;
Its bill of fare was rock and sand; the tailings were its dung;
It glared around with fierce electric eyes.
Full fifty buckets crammed its maw;
it bellowed out for more;
It looked like some great monster in the gloom.

No man can be a failure if he thinks he's a success; If he thinks he is a winner, then he is.

I like to think that when I fall,
A rain-drop in Death's shoreless sea,
This shelf of books along the wall,
Beside my bed, will mourn for me.

A promise made is a debt unpaid.

There's gold, and it's haunting and haunting;
It's luring me on as of old;
Yet it isn't the gold that I'm wanting
so much as just finding the gold.
It's the forests where silence has lease;
It's the beauty that thrills me with wonder,
It's the stillness that fills me with peace.

Some praise the Lord for Light,
The living spark;
I thank God for the Night
The healing dark.

I have no doubts that the Devil grins,
As seas of ink I spatter.
Ye gods, forgive my “literary” sins –
The other kind don’t matter.

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't sit still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest; Their's is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.

Be master of your petty annoyances and conserve your energies for the big, worthwhile things. It isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out - it's the grain of sand in your shoe.

It isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out -- it's the grain of sand in your shoe.

Author Picture
First Name
Robert
Last Name
Service, fully Robert William Service
Birth Date
1874
Death Date
1958
Bio

English Poet and Writer, known as "the Bard of the Yukon"