The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations

Only a memory of the same.

‘The Last Ride Together’ (1855) st. 1

Who knows but the world may end tonight?

‘The Last Ride Together’ (1855) st. 2

My soul

Smoothed itself out, a long-cramped scroll Freshening and fluttering in the wind.

‘The Last Ride Together’ (1855) st. 4

Had I said that, had I done this, So might I gain, so might I miss.

Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell!

‘The Last Ride Together’ (1855) st. 4

Look at the end of work, contrast The petty done, the undone vast,

This present of theirs with the hopeful past!

‘The Last Ride Together’ (1855) st. 5

’Tis an awkward thing to play with souls, And matter enough to save one’s own.

‘A Light Woman’ (1855) st. 12

Just for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat.

‘The Lost Leader’ (1845) (referring to Wordsworth)

We that had loved him so, followed him, honoured him, Lived in his mild and magnificent eye,

Learned his great language, caught his clear accents, Made him our pattern to live and to die! Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us,

Burns, Shelley, were with us—they watch from their graves!

‘The Lost Leader’ (1845)

Never glad confident morning again!

‘The Lost Leader’ (1845)

All’s over, then: does truth sound bitter As one at first believes?

‘The Lost Mistress’ (1845)

Oppression makes the wise man mad.

‘Luria’ (1846) act 4, l. 16

Kentish Sir Byng stood for his King, Bidding the crop-headed Parliament swing: And, pressing a troop unable to stoop

And see the rogues flourish and honest folk droop, Marched them along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.

God for King Charles! Pym and such carles

To the Devil that prompts ’em their treasonous parles!

‘Marching Along’ (1842)

And find a poor devil has ended his cares

At the foot of your rotten-runged rat-riddled stairs? Do I carry the moon in my pocket?

‘Master Hugues of Saxe-Gotha’ (1855) st. 29

A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch And blue spurt of a lighted match,

And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears, Than the two hearts beating each to each!

‘Meeting at Night’ (1845)

Ah, did you once see Shelley plain, And did he stop and speak to you And did you speak to him again? How strange it seems, and new!

‘Memorabilia’ (1855)

There’s a more hateful form of foolery— The social sage’s, Solomon of saloons And philosophic diner-out.

‘Mr Sludge, “The Medium”’ (1864) l. 773

That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive.

‘My Last Duchess’ (1842) l. 1

She had

A heart—how shall I say?—too soon made glad, Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er

She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.

‘My Last Duchess’ (1842) l. 21

Never the time and the place And the loved one all together!

‘Never the Time and the Place’ (1883)

A lion who dies of an ass’s kick,

The wronged great soul of an ancient Master.

‘Old Pictures in Florence’ (1855) st. 6

What’s come to perfection perishes.

Things learned on earth, we shall practise in heaven:

With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats.

‘The Pied Piper of Hamelin’ (1842) st. 2

So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!

‘The Pied Piper of Hamelin’ (1842) st. 7

The year’s at the spring And day’s at the morn; Morning’s at seven;

The hill-side’s dew-pearled; The lark’s on the wing; The snail’s on the thorn: God’s in his heaven— All’s right with the world!

‘Pippa Passes’ (1841) pt. 1, l. 221

You’ll look at least on love’s remains, A grave’s one violet:

Your look?—that pays a thousand pains. What’s death? You’ll love me yet!

‘Pippa Passes’ (1841) pt. 3, l. 314

All service ranks the same with God— With God, whose puppets, best and worst, Are we: there is no last nor first.

‘Pippa Passes’ (1841) epilogue ad fin.

Stand still, true poet that you are!

I know you; let me try and draw you. Some night you’ll fail us: when afar You rise, remember one man saw you, Knew you, and named a star!

‘Popularity’ (1855) st. 1

All her hair

In one long yellow string I wound Three times her little throat around, And strangled her. No pain felt she; I am quite sure she felt no pain.

‘Porphyria’s Lover’ (1842) l. 38

Fear death?—to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face.

‘Prospice’ (1864)

I was ever a fighter, so—one fight more,

The best and the last!

I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, And bade me creep past.

No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old,

Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life’s arrears Of pain, darkness and cold.

‘Prospice’ (1864)

Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be,

The last of life, for which the first was made: Our times are in His hand

Who saith, ‘A whole I planned,

Youth shows but half; trust God: see all nor be afraid!’

‘Rabbi Ben Ezra’ (1864) st. 1

Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: What I aspired to be,

And was not, comforts me:

A brute I might have been, but would not sink i’ the scale.

‘Rabbi Ben Ezra’ (1864) st. 7

For note, when evening shuts, A certain moment cuts

The deed off, calls the glory from the grey.

‘Rabbi Ben Ezra’ (1864) st. 16

Fancies that broke through language and escaped.

‘Rabbi Ben Ezra’ (1864) st. 25

Fool! All that is, at all, Lasts ever, past recall;

Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure.

‘Rabbi Ben Ezra’ (1864) st. 27

Time’s wheel runs back or stops: potter and clay endure.

‘Rabbi Ben Ezra’ (1864) st. 27

He fixed thee ’mid this dance Of plastic circumstance.

‘Rabbi Ben Ezra’ (1864) st. 28

My times be in Thy hand! Perfect the cup as planned!

Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same!

‘Rabbi Ben Ezra’ (1864) st. 32

Youth means love,

Vows can’t change nature, priests are only men.

‘The Ring and the Book’ (1868-9) bk. 1, l. 1056

O lyric Love, half-angel and half-bird And all a wonder and a wild desire.

‘The Ring and the Book’ (1868-9) bk. 1, l. 1391

So, Pietro craved an heir,

(The story always old and always new).

‘The Ring and the Book’ (1868-9) bk. 2, l. 213

Go practise if you please

With men and women: leave a child alone For Christ’s particular love’s sake!

‘The Ring and the Book’ (1868-9) bk. 3, l. 88

In the great right of an excessive wrong.

‘The Ring and the Book’ (1868-9) bk. 3, l. 1055

Through such souls alone

God stooping shows sufficient of His light For us i’ the dark to rise by. And I rise.

‘The Ring and the Book’ (1868-9) bk. 7, l. 1843

Faultless to a fault.

‘The Ring and the Book’ (1868-9) bk. 9, l. 1175.

Why comes temptation but for man to meet And master and make crouch beneath his foot, And so be pedestalled in triumph?

‘The Ring and the Book’ (1868-9) bk. 10, l. 1184

White shall not neutralize the black, nor good Compensate bad in man, absolve him so: Life’s business being just the terrible choice.

‘The Ring and the Book’ (1868-9) bk. 10, l. 1235

There’s a new tribunal now

Higher than God’s,—the educated man’s!

‘The Ring and the Book’ (1868-9) bk. 10, l. 1975

Into that sad obscure sequestered state Where God unmakes but to remake the soul He else made first in vain; which must not be.

‘The Ring and the Book’ (1868-9) bk. 10, l. 2129

It is the glory and good of Art, That Art remains the one way possible

Of speaking truth, to mouths like mine, at least.

‘The Ring and the Book’ (1868-9) bk. 12, l. 838

’Tis not what man Does which exalts him, but what man Would do!

‘Saul’ (1855) st. 18

I want to know a butcher paints, A baker rhymes for his pursuit, Candlestick-maker much acquaints His soul with song, or, haply mute,

Blows out his brains upon the flute!

‘Shop’ (1876) st. 21

There’s a great text in Galatians, Once you trip on it, entails Twenty-nine distinct damnations, One sure, if another fails.

‘Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister’ (1842) st. 7

Sidney’s self, the starry paladin.

‘Sordello’ (1840) bk. 1, l. 69

Still more labyrinthine buds the rose.

‘Sordello’ (1840) bk. 1, l. 476

A touch divine—

And the scaled eyeball owns the mystic rod; Visibly through his garden walketh God.

‘Sordello’ (1840) bk. 1, l. 502

Any nose

May ravage with impunity a rose.

‘Sordello’ (1840) bk. 6, l. 881

The glory dropped from their youth and love, And both perceived they had dreamed a dream.

‘The Statue and the Bust’ (1855) l. 152

The soldier-saints, who row on row, Burn upward each to his point of bliss.

‘The Statue and the Bust’ (1855) l. 222

And the sin I impute to each frustrate ghost Is—the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin, Though the end in sight was a vice, I say.

‘The Statue and the Bust’ (1863 revision) l. 246

Oh Galuppi, Baldassaro, this is very sad to find!

I can hardly misconceive you; it would prove me deaf and blind; But although I take your meaning, ’tis with such a heavy mind!

‘A Toccata of Galuppi’s’ (1855) st. 1

Hark, the dominant’s persistence till it must be answered to!

‘A Toccata of Galuppi’s’ (1855) st. 8

What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?

‘A Toccata of Galuppi’s’ (1855) st. 14

Dear dead women, with such hair, too—what’s become of all the gold Used to hang and brush their bosoms? I feel chilly and grown old.

‘A Toccata of Galuppi’s’ (1855) st. 15

Grand rough old Martin Luther Bloomed fables—flowers on furze, The better the uncouther:

Do roses stick like burrs?

‘The Twins’ (1855)

I would that you were all to me, You that are just so much, no more.

‘Two in the Campagna’ (1855) st. 8

I pluck the rose

And love it more than tongue can speak— Then the good minute goes.

‘Two in the Campagna’ (1855) st. 10

Only I discern—

Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn.

‘Two in the Campagna’ (1855) st. 12

Let’s contend no more, Love, Strive nor weep:

All be as before, Love, —Only sleep!

‘A Woman’s Last Word’ (1855) st. 1

I knew you once: but in Paradise,

If we meet, I will pass nor turn my face.

‘The Worst of It’ (1864) st. 19

Ay, dead! and were yourself alive, good Fitz, How to return your thanks would pass my wits. Kicking you seems the common lot of curs— While more appropriate greeting lends you grace: Surely to spit there glorifies your face—

Spitting from lips once sanctified by Hers.

Rejoinder to Edward Fitzgerald, who had ‘thanked God my wife was dead’, in ‘Athenaeum’ 13 July 1889.

2.225 Robert I the Bruce 1554-1631

Now, God be with you, my children: I have breakfasted with you and shall sup with my Lord Jesus Christ this night.

In Robert Fleming ‘The Fulfilling of the Scripture’ (3rd ed., 1693) p. 372

2.226 Beau Brummell (George Bryan Brummell) 1778-1840

Who’s your fat friend?

Referring to the Prince of Wales, in Capt. Jesse ‘Life of George Brummell’ (1844) vol. 1, p. 273

[Brummell] used to say that, whether it was summer or winter, he always liked to have the morning well-aired before he got up.

Charles Macfarlane ‘Reminiscences of a Literary Life’ (1917) ch. 27

No perfumes, but very fine linen, plenty of it, and country washing.

In ‘Memoirs of Harriette Wilson’ (1825) vol. 1, p. 42

Shut the door, Wales.

To the Prince of Wales (attributed)

2.227 William Jennings Bryan 1860-1925

The humblest citizen of all the land, when clad in the armor of a righteous cause, is stronger than all the hosts of error.

Speech at the Democratic National Convention, Chicago, 1896, in ‘The First Battle. A Story of the Campaign of 1896’ (1896) vol. 1, ch. 10

You shall not press down upon the brow of labour this crown of thorns, you shall not crucify mankind upon a cross of gold.

Speech at the Democratic National Convention, Chicago, 1896, in ‘The First Battle. A Story of the Campaign of 1896’ (1896) vol. 1, ch. 10

2.228 Martin Buber 1878-1965

Der Mensch wird am Du zum Ich.

Through the Thou a person becomes I.

‘Ich und Du’ (1923) in ‘Werke’ (1962) vol. 1, p. 97

2.229 John Buchan (first Baron Tweedsmuir) 1875-1940

‘Back to Glasgow to do some work for the cause,’ I said lightly. ‘Just so,’ he said, with a grin. ‘It’s a great life if you don’t weaken.’

‘Mr Standfast’ (1919) ch. 5

An atheist is a man who has no invisible means of support.

In H. E. Fosdick ‘On Being a Real Person’ (1943) ch. 10

2.230 Robert Buchanan 1841-1901

She just wore

Enough for modesty—no more.

‘White Rose and Red’ (1873) pt. 1, sect. 5, l. 60

The sweet post-prandial cigar.

‘De Berny’ (1874)