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
Must
Ways
Brimming
Years
Days
Blaze
Way
Causes
Spun
Make
Call
Instant
Men
Black
Affair
Time
Cannot
Gold
Life
May
Tears
Instants
Back
Cause
Duller

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It ought to have gangsters, and aeroplanes and a lot of automatic pistols.
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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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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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Oh some are fond of Spanish wine, and some are fond of French.
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Off Cape Horn there are but two kinds of weather, neither one of them a pleasant kind.
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God dropped a spark down into everyone, And if we find and fan it to a blaze, It'll spring up and glow, like--like the sun, And light the wandering out of stony ways.
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O lovely lily clean, O lily springing green, O lily bursting white, Dear lily of delight, Spring in my heart agen That I may flower to men.
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I must go down to the sea again For the call of the running tide It's a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied.
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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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God warms his hands at man's heart when he prays.
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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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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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The days that make us happy make us wise
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I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.
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Life, a beauty chased by tragic laughter.
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The three foundations of judgement: Bold Design, Constant Practice, and Frequent Mistakes.
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So death obscures your gentle form, So memory strives to make the darkness bright And, in that heap of rocks, your body lies, Part of the island till the planet ends, My gentle comrade, beautiful and wise, Part of this crag this bitter surge offends, While I, who pass, a little obscure thing, War with this force, and breathe, and am its king.
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Man's body is faulty, his mind untrustworthy, but his imagination has made him remarkable.
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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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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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