Thomas Hood


British Humorist and Poet

Author Quotes

Each cloud-capt mountain is a holy altar; an organ breathes in every grove; and the full heart ’s a Psalter, rich in deep hymn of gratitude and love.

Love exceedeth all treasure in price.

That a man be willing, when others are so too, as far forth as for peace and defence of himself he shall think it necessary, to lay down this right to all things; and be contented with so much liberty against other men, as he would allow other men against himself.

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! Sewing at once a double thread, a shroud as well as a shirt… O God! that bread should be so dear, and flesh and blood so cheap! No blessed leisure for love or hope, but only time for grief…My tears must stop, for every drop hinders needle and thread.

Even God’s providence seeming estranged.

Many a servant unto his lord saith, that all the world speaketh of him honoúr, when the contrary of that is sooth, in faith.

That fierce thing they call a conscience.

With how great labour or with how great paine men winne good, to the world leave it shall; unto the pit goeth naught but the careyne. [carcass]

A certain portion of the human race has certainly a taste for being diddled.

'Extremes meet', as the whiting said with its tail in its mouth.

My books kept me from the ring, the dog-pit, the tavern, and the saloon.

The best of friends fall out, and so his teeth had done some years ago.

A man must needs smarte whan irous thoughtes occupy his hearte. [irate]

For my part, getting up seems not so easy by half as lying.

No solemn sanctimonious face I pull, nor think I’m pious when I’m only bilious; nor study in my sanctum supercilious, to frame a Sabbath Bill or forge a Bull.

The blind man of colours all wrong deemeth.

A man that’s fond precociously of stirring must be a spoon.

For the more part, youthe is rebel unto Reason, and hateth her doctrine.

No sun—no moon—no morn—no noon, no dawn—no dusk—no proper time of day, no warmth—no cheerfulness—no healthful ease, no road, no street, no t’ other side the way, no comfortable feel in any member— no shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, no fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds, November!

The worthynesse of women passeth mennes, in certain.

A moment's thinking is an hour in words.

Frost is the greatest artist in our clime - he paints in nature and describes in rime.

O bed! O bed! delicious bed! That heaven upon earth to the weary head!

There are three things which the public will always clamor for, sooner or later: namely, novelty, novelty, novelty.

A wicked tree good fruit may none forth bringe for such the fruit is, as that is the tree.

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British Humorist and Poet