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Love is a flame to burn out human wills, Love is a flame to set the will on fire, Love is a flame to cheat men into mire.

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
Humans
Mire
Men
Wills
Love
Flame
Life
Cheat
Burn
Flames
Fire
Human

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The distant soul can shake the distant friend's soul and make the longing felt, over untold miles.
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Death opens unknown doors. It is most grand to die.
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Only the road and the dawn, the sun, the wind, and the rain, And the watch fire under stars, and sleep, and the road again.
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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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I hold that when a person dies / His soul returns again to earth / Arrayed in some new flesh disguise / Another mother gives him birth / With sturdier limbs and brighter brain.
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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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Oh some are fond of Spanish wine, and some are fond of French.
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In this life he laughs longest who laughs last.
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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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Most roads lead men homewards, My road leads me forth
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Life's battle is a conquest for the strong The meaning shows in the defeated thing.
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State are not made, nor patched they grow Grow slow through centuries of pain, And grow correctly in the main But only grow by certain laws, Of certain bits in certain jaws.
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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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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.
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Life, a beauty chased by tragic laughter.
John Masefield
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Poetry is a mixture of common sense, which not all have, with an uncommon sense, which very few have.
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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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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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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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Man's body is faulty, his mind untrustworthy, but his imagination has made him remarkable.
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