Quote

Man cannot call the brimming instant back Time's an affair of instants spun to days If man must make an instant gold, or black, Let him, he may but Time must go his ways. Life may be duller for an instant's blaze. Life's an affair of instants spun to years, Instants are only cause of all these tears.

John Masefield

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John Masefield
Age: 88 †
Born: 1878
Born: June 1
Died: 1967
Died: May 12
Journalist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
County of Herefordshire
John Edward Masefield
Years
Days
Blaze
Way
Causes
Spun
Make
Call
Instant
Men
Black
Affair
Time
Cannot
Gold
Life
May
Tears
Instants
Back
Cause
Duller
Must
Ways
Brimming

More quotes by John Masefield

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From '41 to '51I was my folk's contrary sonI bit my father's hand right throughAnd broke my mother's heart in two.
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The three foundations of judgement: Bold Design, Constant Practice, and Frequent Mistakes.
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The Lord who gave us Earth and Heaven Takes that as thanks for all He's given. The book he lent is given back All blotted red and smutted black.
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His face was filled with broken commandments.
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There are few earthly things more beautiful than a university a place where those who hate ignorance may strive to know, where those who perceive truth may strive to make others see.
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To most of us the future seems unsure. But then it always has been and we who have seen great changes must have great hopes.
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Each one could be a Jesus mild, Each one has been a little child, A little child with laughing look, A lovely white unwritten book A book that God will take, my friend, As each goes out at journey's end.
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On the long dusty ribbon of the long city street, The pageant of life is passing me on multitudinous feet, With a word here of the hills, and a song there of the sea And-the great movement changes-the pageant passes me.
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Man with his burning soul Has but an hour of breath To build a ship of Truth In which his soul may sail- Sail on the sea of death. For death takes toll Of beauty, courage, youth, Of all but Truth.
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It ought to have gangsters, and aeroplanes and a lot of automatic pistols.
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The corn that makes the holy bread By which the soul of man is fed, The holy bread, the food unpriced, Thy everlasting mercy, Christ.
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I have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hills Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain.
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I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
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Death opens unknown doors. It is most grand to die.
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Life's battle is a conquest for the strong The meaning shows in the defeated thing.
John Masefield
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Since the printing press came into being, poetry has ceased to be the delight of the whole community of man it has become the amusement and delight of the few.
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Life, a beauty chased by tragic laughter.
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Commonplace people dislike tragedy because they dare not suffer and cannot exult.
John Masefield
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It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes. For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills, And April's in the West wind, and daffodils.
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Man's body is faulty, his mind untrustworthy, but his imagination has made him remarkable.
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