Quote

I have seen flowers come in stony places And kind things done by men with ugly faces, And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races, So I trust, too.

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
Seen
Flowers
Race
Ugly
Faces
Horse
Come
Places
Done
Gold
Kind
Flower
Stony
Things
Trust
Races
Men
Worst
Cups

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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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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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Most roads lead men homewards, My road leads me forth
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His face was filled with broken commandments.
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The luck will alter and the star will rise.
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And may we find when ended is the page, Death but a tavern on our pilgrimage.
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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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Poetry is a mixture of common sense, which not all have, with an uncommon sense, which very few have.
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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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God warms his hands at man's heart when he prays.
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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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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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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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Off Cape Horn there are but two kinds of weather, neither one of them a pleasant kind.
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When Life knocks at the door no one can wait, When Death makes his arrest we have to go.
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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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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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Man's body is faulty, his mind untrustworthy, but his imagination has made him remarkable.
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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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Life's battle is a conquest for the strong The meaning shows in the defeated thing.
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